Oceans Apart
by Willofthewisp
Summary: This is the year between COTBP and DMC, from freely chasing horizons to desperately clinging to life. Although not together, Jack and Elizabeth both meet their respective challenges, avoid the inevitable, and are haunted by the other. J/E, j/a, w/e
1. Chapter 1

342 Days Before

"Drink up, me hearties, yo ho/Yo ho, yo ho/A pirate's life for me," Jack sang aimlessly to himself, his eyes glancing up from his compass to the glittery, endless sea in front of him. The budding smirk on his face stretched into a massive grin. Closing his eyes, he emptied his mind just long enough to remember the last time he stood on this deck, held this helm, guided her through squall and squalor with such practice it was like a memorized dance. You're home, he thought, blinking at the fact he didn't know if he was talking to himself or to his _Pearl._

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

"No, I don't think so." He half-turned towards Anamaria, her arms folded across her chest. "The next line goes 'we're beggars and blighters and ne'er-do-well cads,' and after a few lines here and there it just goes back to the chorus."

"My ship, Jack!" She stomped over to him, her hand raised above her head, tensing, her fingers curled like talons. "You promised me a ship. I'm not staying and serving under you, so you can forget any 'aye aye, sirs' coming from me."

"So I did promise you a ship," he said. "And I gave you one, a big one."

"It's destroyed!"

"I can't help it if you were careless with it after I gave it to you. If I just up and give you another one, what will you have learned?" He patted her head like it was a child's, only for Anamaria to step into him and ball up her fist. He caught it right before it collided with his eye. They spun around into the helm, the pattering of the crew's footsteps surrounding them, followed by the cocking of several pistols. Waiting for her to lower her arms, he watched her exhale and wiggle out from between himself and the helm. Smoothing her blouse, she glared at the crew, each one still with their pistols pointed at her.

"Fine. We're not too far from Port Royal. It would be an easy swim right to Commodore Norrington…"

"I'm having a thought, Anamaria." He whistled over for…he would have to learn some of their names…to take the helm. Rushing down the steps, he caught up with her. Taking a brief second to glance back at the helm, his eyes lightened. Even coming down her steps felt as natural as breathing. "This ship hasn't really done any honest pirating under me command for ten years."

"Your point?"

"Well, that information combined with the information that the late Barbossa did manage to earn the _Pearl _an even more infamous reputation than she already have would imply if we were to conduct a bit of piracy right now, say, at the first ship we sighted, one might find the most prudent thing to do would be for you to claim the ship and I claim the spoils within the hold, eh? What say you to that?"

"Fifty percent of the hold," she said, holding her chin in her hand, some shrewd calculation in her mind.

"Seventy-five."

"Sixty."

"Done." He held out his hand. "Although sixty percent does take more arithmetic than me just commandeering all of it. Oh well. No one ever drowned in their own sweat. Snap to, lads! You know how this works. Once we're within range, hoist the colors."

Running back up the steps to the helm, he narrowed his eyes at the sea, suddenly hungry, eager, ravenous—like a predator emerging from a hibernation cave, all too willing to reek vengeance on the smaller animals that had stayed awake all winter. Some of the water sprayed onto his face, the wind picking up, billowing down the sails.

"Jack! Ship sighted starboard side," Gibbs said, his smile crooked in conspiracy. "Balener from the look of it. Ha! Them gun holes are painted on! Have a look."

Jack took the spyglass and focused on the two-mast ship passing over the horizon line towards them. It was a Balener, all right, smaller than the _Pearl _and weapon bluffing. It certainly wouldn't qualify as a harrowing saga to tell at the pubs, but it would do. It was most definitely larger than her last ship, whatever the bloody thing was called.

"Have a look." He took a smug stance watching her find the ship. "Fair compensation for the _Pudgy Mon_ as I see it."

_"Jolly Mon_."

"Hoist the colors and ready the guns. Haul on the main brace."

"Cap'n, hadn't we wait?" Gibbs asked.

"I've waited long enough."

It was surreal, the men clamoring down to the guns, waiting for his signal. The others remaining on deck kept one hand on their swords, the other one busy readying the ropes to swing across. It was the calm before the storm, Jack knew, preparing to sense the overwhelming emanation of gunpowder. The deck of the other ship was in plain sight now, the men aboard it scurrying every which way, probably wondering where the one musket for emergencies only rested.

"Fire," he ordered, his eyes wide and exhilarated.

"Fire!"

"Fire!"

The ship rumbled while the earsplitting sound of sheer piracy penetrated the whaling vessel, its sails tattering by the second. The crew scattered after each thunderous pounding, their frantic voices ringing in Jack's ears. Through the ashen smoke, he spied the name in bold green letters on her side. The _Semele. _Fitting, he smirked, wondering if the mother of Dionysus appropriately carried rum in her hold. His men boarded her, their pistol shots piddling in comparison to the deep cannons of the _Pearl. _

Maneuvering down to the railing, he took hold of one of the ropes, the scratchy braided wires scraping against his newest scar, an angry slit running vertically across his palm.

"Makes ye feel alive, don't it?" Gibbs grinned next to him, gritting a dagger in his teeth.

Smiling, Jack swung onto the _Semele_, noting the swelling number of her crewmen underneath him, abandoning ship, preferring the long arm-pulling swim back to Port Royal to being at his mercy. Oh yes, it does make one feel alive. Landing with both feet flat on the deck, he gripped his pistol and sauntered up to the quarter deck. A few men sprinkled here and there, broken harpoons were the only obstacles in his path.

"Are you the captain?" he asked to a wiry elderly gentleman with spectacles disappearing behind a hawk-like nose.

"Y-yes, sir."

"Ah! Captain Jack Sparrow, pleased to make your acquaintance." He held out his hand, palm and wrist wrapped in lace, two rings on his long bony fingers. He flipped it over and then back when the captain hesitated. "Is something amiss?"

"You're a pirate," the captain said, puffing the sentence out from between dried lips, his eyes darting down to Jack's pistol.

"A trifle matter, mate, especially in the way of negotiation." He reached for the cowering form's shoulder and flung his arm around it. "I'm in a hurry to dispense a young woman, and you know what they say about having one of those onboard, and the best and most utilitarian method of doing so is to sack this ship and let her have at it. That's where you come in. You call off your remaining men, the ones who have yet to jump ship, and take one of the longboats."

"You don't want to cut out my tongue?"

"What? I already got a man like that. He's…" Jack looked out into the chaos below for Cotton, locked in combat with a crewman. "It's not important right now."

"We don't have to run around the deck while you poke us with the tips of your swords?"

"Who has time for that?" Jack began to consider himself the savior of this unfortunately loquacious man who might have talked his way into being keel-hauled or a marooned had he been sacked by someone else. "We'll just go collect your crew, lower you down, and call it a deal, square after that, savvy?" The old man nodded and ran down to his huddled crew, surrounded by armed pirates.

* * *

"This was really most obliging of you, Captain Sparrow," Captain Archer called up from the longboat, weapon-free with the rowers already paddling away from the ship.

"Not at all, my good sir. I would be grateful for a little touch of a torture story once you find land, though, something along the lines of thumbscrews and boiling in oil, eh?"

"Oh, oh, yes, will do! Ta ta."

Jack waved and turned back to find Anamaria inspecting the shrouds.

"Oy! Something not to your liking? It's twice as big as your last one at least."

"But not bigger than the _Interceptor_," she said with a knowing eyebrow. "You were lucky that was the one you'd promised or I wouldn't have gone out on such a fool's errand." She tossed back her hair and smirked at him. "But it's not your fault, I suppose. The _Black Pearl _was cursed at the time. There was no way of beating her."

"Nor is there now. Fastest ship in the Caribbean, that."

"Ha!" Anamaria snorted, making her way towards the captain's cabin. "That's what that girl said about the _Interceptor_ and I'll tell you, she nearly staved off the _Pearl. _Had it been an even match to start we might have come out on top with her daft strategies. Jack?" She edged closer to him. "The lad…no talk of joining your crew, was there?"

His arm wrapped around her waist.

"I ain't ever heard tell of you fancying a lad of any kind, even one as close to a girl as William Turner." So it had been Miss Swann's fault the rudder, tiller, and brig of the _Pearl _were filled with holes. Typical. He stifled a laugh and a fleeting sense of pride, taken aback by the sudden sensation of fingertips on his neck.

"Well, one such as William Turner could make someone like me consider switching teams," she purred, running her fingers down his throat, down to just beneath his shirt. "So could a man that gave me two ships."

"So now it's trivial that your first one is gone." He said it with a pouty tone but cupped the back of her thigh that was entwining with his own. This would be different, he thought, wondering when the last time Anamaria had been with a man was. "Had you come to that conclusion an hour ago we could have already done this in my cabin." He cocked his head over at the anchored _Pearl_ and then began to leave a trail of kisses down her jaw. "Would have already had you undressed…uninhibited…and…" He paused to give a lingering kiss to her lips, tasting the sea salt on them. "Undone by now."

"Undone?" Her spider-like fingers danced down to his belt.

"Utterly. Had we started an hour ago there would have been nothing left for you but to scream out and collapse on my bed."

"Really?" She broke away from him to fiddle with the doorknob to the cabin, even that action erotic to him right now. "You wouldn't have petered out in fifteen minutes?"

"Open that door and we'll find out," he grunted, the pacing of his breathing beginning to speed. At last the door opened, revealing a shadowy, sunless cabin, the only light a few lanterns hung up against the bulkhead, giving off a faint amber light. It complimented her caramel skin, allowing him to see each thick eyelash, that feline mouth.

Kicking the door shut, he lunged at her, kissing her while his hands pressed against the small of her back, pushing her up towards him. It had been longer than usual for him, his fingers cradling the delicate skin on the back of a woman's neck, the tips embedded in her hair. Working the buttons of her blouse, he tilted his head to kiss her eyes, forcing her backward to the bed, thoughts of who would be on top running through his mind, both scenarios pleasant.

On her back, shirt open and splayed out at her sides, Anamaria's eyes closed, her hands, though, still busy with his belt, undoing the buckle and letting the heavy, inconvenient ornament clang to the floor. She sprang back up, sitting on her knees, allowing him to slip her trousers off her slender legs. The anticipation of her undoing each button on his shirt was a delicious torture.

"So where underneath all the tattoos and scars is your chest?" she asked with her hand on her hip, snorting a mock disappointment.

"I don't know. I'll settle for yours." Jack dropped down and tongued her torso, reveling in parts he had not tongued on anyone for too long. Bending her backward to lie on the bed, he straightened himself out on top of her, nibbling on a nipple until he heard the wanton groan every woman purrs out when she's ready. Apparently it didn't matter to some of those women who was doing the prep work, he mused, relishing the fact he was representing all males around the world with what he was about to do. Of course, he thought in spite of himself, he probably wasn't the very first man ever…oh, definitely not the first, he sighed, savoring her warmth…but he might as well have been.

"Jack."

Smiling at the familiar sound of his name whispered inches below his face, he leaned down and sucked on her throat, tasting the sensitive skin that stretched over her muscles like a drum. Bloody hell it felt so good, those limber legs twining around his waist, those long arms sliding up his own. Kneading her, he closed his eyes and just felt, felt her writhe and buck against him, listened to ragged breathing and the folding sound of tensed fingers scraping against sheets.

"Are you game to moving around a bit?" she asked, the words hissing out of her, like she would lose all control if she slacked her mouth. He could feel her pushing up on him. Opening his eyes, he grinned at the devilish, daring eyes.

"Yours for the taking," Jack said, gathering her up in his arms and rolling over with her. Anamaria hovered over him, the vertical lines on her stomach begging for him to take hold of them and keep her steady.

* * *

"Wind in the sails! Wind in the sails!" Cotton's parrot squawked, its wings giving out a small spasm. Cotton gave it a pat and picked up a discarded piece of hardtack off the deck. His fingers prepared to jerk back, they brushed the smooth beak as they fed it.

"Aye, that's the right idea!" Gibbs smacked his back and leaned against the railing of the captured ship. "I can see it now—t'won't be but half a day's journey to Tortuga from here, a week, maybe to Mexico. Wouldn't be too much of a stretch to reach Florida, either. Mark my words, this is the beginning of a new age." Provided Norrington wasn't already out to sea following them, he thought, but it didn't seem likely. He would have already caught up to them. And if Jack wasn't worried, there was no reason for him to be.

* * *

Grunts. Growls. Screams. That was the order of how the female creature uttered his name as she climaxed and to Jack, there was no prettier sight in the world than a girl's eyes half-closed but rolling back into her head, her eyebrows arched up in ecstasy. It fueled his own, it did, so satisfied with himself that he was the bringer of so much pleasure. All he had to do now was keep doing what he was doing, close his eyes, and breathe in her moans. This Anamaria was different, but not so different, from all the others—truly a feisty beauty, to be sure. That acerbic tone, that athletic figure…

The way her hair curled into little waves while it cascaded down her shoulders. The way she hitched up the skirt of her shift just enough so those thin but shapely legs could catch some sun…the way that her sweat made her give off a glow. The way moonlight and flames accentuated the entirety of her.

Those eyes locking in on his, simultaneously pleading and dreading a kiss…the way she had holed up the rudder, tiller, and brig of the _Pearl_…

Gasping, he convulsed on the sheets before going limp, his eyelids nothing less than leaden weights.

"If this is how you christen every ship you give a girl, it's a wonder there aren't more woman commodores out there," Anamaria sighed, prying herself off of him and curling up against his chest.

"Don't know enough women pirates," he grunted, exhaling. Ungrateful, he scolded himself as his palm rubbed down her shoulder all the way to her hip. Gorgeous girls like this don't come along every day and you pictured someone else anyway. Reviving the old tradition of penance, Jack tilted her chin up and kissed her, savoring as much of her tongue as he could. After this, every conquest would take place on the _Pearl_, too many strumpets acting the part of St. Thomas and needing to see the holes in the sails and the battle wounds before asserting the much-talked-of ship was real. So real, he thought to himself, and now that his _Pearl _was reunited with him, there would be no stopping the two of them. Nothing and no one he wanted would dare stand a chance.

"You're thinking of all the hearts you're going to break," Anamaria said with a hearty laugh.

"Not all treasure is silver and gold."

* * *

**A/N: A Balener is a kind of ship, fairly large, and predominantly seen in the Mediterranean around this point in time. It's not an error; I just wanted it to stick out so badly it seemed like it was begging to be sacked. I don't own POTC.**


	2. Chapter 2

342 Days Before

"Elizabeth," she thought she heard off in the distance somewhere, her father calling her, but she kept her eyes closed, shortening the stream of kisses on Will's lips. Mesmerizing, that he kept leaning in his head to catch them, she thought.

"Elizabeth." Governor Swann cleared his throat.

"Yes, Father?" She turned back to him, her lips swollen. The sinking sun cast so many shadows onto the fort she could barely see him. Lifting her hand over her eyes, she spotted him gesturing his head towards the carriage, determined to conceal his embarrassment. Still cocooned in Will's arms, she shifted her weight.

"Shall we be getting on then? After all, there isn't really any reason to stay."

It would certainly be the death of him if she told him how endearing she found his blushing.

"May I walk you home?" Will asked in a hushed whisper, his hand reluctantly releasing her shoulder and resting on top of hers.

"Of course. Will and I will meet you up at the house." Clenching his fingers and still holding his hat, she led him down off the battlements and back through the plaza of the fort. Twisting her neck, she laughed at his constant backward glances at her father.

"Will."

"Elizabeth, wait." He pulled her back. She met his troubled face. No. He had just said he loved her. He couldn't end it before it had even had a chance to begin. She took a deep inhale, bracing herself.

Without warning, Will bent down and claimed her lips again, the tips of his fingers cupping her chin. A kiss right out of a fairy story, she marveled, her hand brave enough to reach up and fondle his hair. This was the kind of kiss that could wake a princess from a hundred-year sleep, the kind a maiden and her knight would share immediately after he scooped her up onto his steed to ride off in the sunset with her.

"I needed at least one with no one watching," he said with an apologetic, lopsided grin, inches away from hers.

They held hands, weaving through the chickens and shoppers peppered throughout the main street of town, the creamy peak of the governor's mansion visible to them, a few palm leaves brushing against it. It had been nearly a week since Elizabeth had returned, the nightmare of the trials and sentences and plots over and done with now. With Jack safe, comparatively, she corrected herself, and Will with her, it finally did feel like coming home. Fisher opened the door and greeted her as always, except for the fact she noticed he moved a little slower, his pistol wound from the night of the siege never really leaving him.

"Cook wanted me to tell you there's pie lying out in the dining room, miss," he said, eyeing Will before adding with a smile, "Coconut cream pie."

"Stay, Will!" Elizabeth pulled him through the foyer to the dining room.

"Miss Elizabeth…"

"I should be going. Your father isn't too happy with me right now…"

"Miss Elizabeth?"

"I'm happy with you," she said, hands behind her back, flashing him a coy smile. "Considering you anything less than a hero would be criminal. The least I can do is share you some of Rhoda's pie. Really, Will." She stood back from him and placed a hand on her hip. "How many times have you come into this house and we've had something to eat or drink in the parlor? You're acting as if this were the first. Come on." She laced her arm through his, holding the connection with her other hand. "Just tell yourself this time is no different than those times. Father always disapproved of you, you know."

Leaning her head on him when he laughed, she exhaled and pushed open the dining room door.

"Surprise!" Flashes of cannon fire and skeletal limbs danced before her eyes. Blinking, her body unfroze an inch at a time at the sight of pastel-colored dresses and pinned up hair. She could just barely see her father's head over the excited bustling of Frances Hymes, Martha Rudasill, and Cornelia Downs. Cornelia Downs, she grimaced before adopting an aloof, knowing superiority.

"I told the girls you needed some time to recover from your recent…" Governor Swann cleared his throat. "…chain of events. They've come to welcome you home! Isn't that nice of them?"

"And you brought back one of the pirates with you, how charming!" Martha almost tripped over her own feet, never taking her eyes off Will, before Cornelia pulled her back.

"Silly goose, that's Will Turner, the blacksmith's apprentice." She whispered the second part. "We're so glad to see you all in one piece, Mr. Turner. My, you look so dashing."

"Thank you," Will said, casting a suspicious eyebrow.

"It's the finest tunic I've seen in that material. If you like, my father could scrounge up something a little more durable? Oh, he's delectable, Elizabeth. If you didn't already lay claim to him, I'd have half a mind to make him my pet."

"Will, lad, would you like to come out to the study with me?" Governor Swann offered, evading Elizabeth's fiery glare.

"Father," she began, gritting her teeth. "We have guests."

"Oh, I think some time catching up with your friends will do you a world of good," he said on his way out, bypassing Fisher. "You must be growing tired of so much male company."

Elizabeth's heels turned her back towards the foyer, watching them both go, her hand fighting to reach out for them.

"I tried to warn you, miss," Fisher said, closing the door, trapping her. Trapping her with the most vapid, disingenuous girls society had to offer.

"Sit down, Elizabeth. Have some pie. Rhoda was kind enough to cut us a piece. She saved one for you." The other girls took Frances' lead and resumed their seats at the table. Elizabeth smoothed her napkin on her lap and held the dainty fork against the shreds of coconut forming the top of the pie. "You must have missed such luxuries. It's quite delicious."

"I was well cared for, I assure you," she said, taking a bite, letting the rich flavor melt in her mouth. It hadn't been so long ago she had had the real thing, raw, picked right from the tree it grew on, she thought with a smile.

"Tell us." Martha leaned forward.

"Whatever about?" Elizabeth chewed on her second piece much slower.

"The pirates, dear, the pirates!" she squealed. "You must be cracked to think we'd mean anything else."

"Oh." Elizabeth waved her hand. "What would you like to know?"

"What did they do?" Cornelia asked, taking hold of Elizabeth's free hand, formulating a look of concern on her made-up face. "It must have been such an ordeal! We were talking about it before you got here—are you, well, ruined?"

"None of them laid a hand on me," Elizabeth yawned, savoring their quizzical expressions. "Except the ones I promptly shot afterwards, of course."

No sheep could have bleated as shrilly as this trio, Elizabeth thought, wincing at the sound. She wondered why she was supposed to enjoy gossiping and sharing every little detail, why it was common practice for girls and women to withdraw from the men in the party to fan themselves and talk about all of those not present. For an absurd moment, she wondered if that very etiquette would apply to pirates.

"You were kidnapped," Frances began for her. "Start from there. We heard they threatened your virtue if you wouldn't go with them!"

"Who said such a thing? No, I parlayed with them, but it was a good thing indeed it was Mr. Pintel and Mr. Ragetti who were the ones I parlayed with," she laughed. "I don't think they could parlay with a cat." Instead of laughing, the girls stared at her with widened eyes. "Oh. They were members of Barbossa's crew."

"What did they look like?"

"Frights."

* * *

"What are they doing in there?" Will gestured back to the dining room. "Elizabeth didn't seem pleased to see them."

"No, she's always avoided them," Governor Swann said, pouring the two of them some brandy. "I don't have to tell you the degree of difference in their interests. Elizabeth always preferred, well, you. And the Commodore." He glanced out the window. "My apologies. I feel the need to clarify, Will. I'm proud Elizabeth isn't like them. You see, she could never tolerate…I hate to speak ill of anyone's children…"

"They don't seem to have much in common," Will finished for him. "I suppose it would be rude if I pulled her away from them?"

"Yes. Don't worry. She can hold her own."

* * *

"Cursed!" Martha breathed. "I never knew such things were real. And the captain, Barbossa, really took the knife out of his own chest?"

"Covered in blood and everything," Elizabeth said. She paused, puzzled at how the same girls who went on and on for hours about ribbons and bonnets and even fainted an average of once a week seemed so enthralled by so much blood and violence. They never took interest when she told them all the latest news on pirates before. Perhaps it took a raiding pirate ship coming into port and dragging away the governor's only child to spark one's interest. "You should have seen Isla de Muerta. Rowing in on a longboat, you're in complete darkness save for the water's reflection flickering above you. There are only a few places in the whole cavern where the sun's rays or the moonlight shine down on all the treasure, but it's enough. All the gold and jewels—they might as well be the floor, the only sound being droplets of water plopping down onto all the swag. But placed on a plateau overlooking it all is the chest, filled with the Aztec gold…"

* * *

"Sir," Will said, sitting in one of the high-backed chairs, his fingers pressing so hard against the massive arms of it his knuckles turned white. "I would like permission to court Elizabeth. I meant what I said at the gallows. I love her. I've always loved her."

"Will, I've never doubted you're a good man—polite, well-spoken, reserved, talented, and thanks to today's events, I see you are also a man of integrity. That said, I would expect you to know how difficult a life it would be if you and my daughter were to marry."

Will said nothing, his eyes hardening.

"As a blacksmith, once you are released from your apprenticeship, it will be a feat in itself to support yourself, much less a wife. It will take some time to establish yourself, pick up a few dependable clients. Elizabeth has never been difficult to please. She has very simple tastes and is an appreciative person, as I'm sure you know."

Will recalled going out with butterfly nets when they were fourteen, hours spent cornering and chasing them while they were gathering nectar from the tropical flowers. She had managed to have one perch on her finger, cooed at the yellow and black circular markings on its brown wings and released it back into the air.

"Nevertheless, she is used to living in this house." Governor Swann opened his arms. "Being with you is, frankly, a step down for her. I know her potential to be a great lady better than anyone, and I'm not sure you could give her all she needs."

You're not sure anyone can, Will wanted to say.

* * *

"You're losing the girls, my dear," Cornelia said, scooting closer. "They aren't as up on all the nautical terms you're using. But you paint a vivid picture, to be sure. We're all sure it was a heart-racing battle, aren't we?" She waited for Frances and Martha to nod in affirmation. "Now, your father's all the way in the other side of the house, so you can skip to the best part."

"And what would you guess to be the best part?" Elizabeth asked, raising her eyebrow.

"Come now, you spent the night with a pirate!"

Elizabeth paled.

"How, how do you know about that?"

"She's flushing! Oh my!" Martha clapped her hands. "So it's true! She's in love!"

"How do all of you know about that?" she asked again.

"Soldiers talk." Cornelia patted her hand. "That doesn't excuse them, of course. Father hears so much idle gossip. They're as bad as women. I wouldn't expect you to know that, dear Elizabeth, as your father isn't an admiral and seldom goes out to sea."

Elizabeth was ready to slap her face.

"But to sleep with Jack Sparrow…I daresay none of us cast any blame on you." She paused her dramatic rant to trickle out a slight giggle. "I suppose it's a good thing he's not here right now or all of us might soon become damaged goods."

"We were far too occupied trying to survive to think about anything else," Elizabeth said, mustering as much tact as she could. One more insinuation, Cornelia Downs, and I will have you literally thrown out of this house.

"Trying to survive?" Frances asked. "But it's a desert isle! It's like in all the stories. You had the freshwater springs, the figs, the dates, the clams. Didn't he find some tree branches to build you a hut?"

Elizabeth burst into laughter, her stomach in pain from the gut wrenching howling. I suppose they all believe the sea turtle story, too, she thought, then caught herself. Not that she had ever believed it…what would Jack have used for rope…but she had speculated no other theory, much less one as dull as the truth.

"I'm sorry," she said, tears forming. "Just let me catch my breath." She let out one last laugh. "There. No. No, he did not build a hut for me." Careful, she told herself. Imagining that could bring on another fit. "He built a fire, we found a little bit to eat, and were picked up the very next morning." Should she mention the drinking? It would certainly feed their curiosity, and it would be so satisfying for someone else to know it was her cunning that led to their being rescued, but it didn't seem right. Humiliating Jack just to humor three clucking hens was not right at all, she decided. So then what was? She bit her lip.

"What happened in between?" Martha asked.

* * *

"Nothing you can say can dissuade me," Will said. He waited for Governor Swann to speak. The man traced the grains in the desk with his fingers, so pensive it was as if the rest of him had turned to stone.

"I will give you a thousand pounds to not court my daughter," he whispered in a ragged voice, so full of self-loathing Will wondered if anyone could take such an offer seriously. "It's enough to open your own shop, see you through for a good long time," he stammered.

"Sir."

"I know. I know you won't take it and I'm not really proposing it." He collapsed into his chair, sifting his brandy. "When might you consider asking for her hand?"

* * *

"Is he every bit as handsome as the stories say?"

"He didn't put his arm around you or anything? I would have been accidentally bumping into him at every turn."

"It's something I would wager my governess would tell," Cornelia said, stirring her tea. "She's always recounting lewd bodice-ripping stories."

"Oh yes," Elizabeth snapped. "I forgot you were raised by a whore. No wonder you anticipated something a little more scandalous."

The room fell silent. Cornelia's face darkened into sheer malice for a fraction of a second before it plastered on its ladylike merriness everyone was so used to seeing on it. So James' men had loose tongues, she thought. The married ones would tell their wives. The unattached ones would tell the shopkeepers and tradesman until all of Port Royal knew that Elizabeth Swann had spent the night on an island with a notorious pirate. She could just hear Jack's laughter now.

"We really must be going," Frances said, standing and nudging Martha. "We're so glad to see you're safe and sound, Elizabeth. It sounds like a truly horrifying ordeal."

"Not horrifying, just harrowing."

"Some girls have all the luck," Martha sighed, her eyes lost in a dreamy haze. Frances dragged her back into the foyer where Fisher stood faithfully to let them out.

"Good day, Elizabeth."

"Yes, good day, Elizabeth!"

"Good day." She waved to them at the door, wishing there was some way she could run out into the ocean rather than turn to her side and face Cornelia, loitering in the foyer and playing with a sconce on the wall. "Did you need something, Cornelia?"

"Oh no, dear, not at all. As your oldest and dearest friend I simply couldn't allow myself to be anything other than the last to leave."

"There's plenty you allow yourself to be," Elizabeth retorted.

"I think it's a bit preposterous for the others to have thought you afraid. Everyone speaks so highly of Miss Swann's bravery," she laughed. She fanned herself. "Maybe this Captain Barbossa was a relative of yours…on your father's side."

_

* * *

  
_

_No one in Port Royal had heard that rumor until Cornelia Downs and her family moved here, and I had had enough. It was like I was possessed, wringing her shoulders and pinning her up against the wall, right there in our foyer._

_"How dare you!" I wanted to scream at her, but only growled it out. "And in my father's own house!"_

_"Elizabeth, let go."_

_But I was enjoying her terror too much._

_"You're going to listen to me right now. No. Don't talk. Listen. My mother was a good, loyal, faithful woman and my father was not a pirate. My father runs this entire island you call your home and you dare accuse him of being a cuckold." It was so tempting to take her by the throat, but I at least managed to not do that. But I wasn't finished with her. "Now, what should you do to make me let go of you?"_

_"You…you want me to promise not to say it to anyone?" she ventured. I decided to be evil for a moment._

_"No." I shook my head and smirked at her. "You want to promise me not to say it to anyone anymore, because if I hear anyone, anyone ever, whisper that anyone other than Governor Weatherby Swann is my father…well, I'll know who to find, won't I?"_

_"You're threatening me?" I had had a mind to let her go until she said that._

_"Yes, yes, I'm threatening you and might I say it was maddeningly stupid of you to insult me like that. All that pirate blood in me might have gotten you shot. Now go. Get out and don't ever come into this house again."_

_I couldn't stop smiling, standing at the threshold of my house, watching Cornelia hitch up her skirts and totter down the path to the street. I half expected her to trip on the way._

341 Days Before

Will laughed at the anecdote between parries, still managing to block her every advance. The clanging of their swords drowned out all other sounds and the memory of the previous day, deafening Elizabeth. Next lesson she would bring cotton swabs. Breathless, she shivered from the layer of sweat clinging to her skin. Her form growing lax, she raised her sword with both hands.

"One hand, Elizabeth."

"Will!"

"Trust me. You never want to use both hands."

Her shoulder felt so weak she doubted she could lift a flower, let alone the sword. It felt like the heaviest one in the workshop. Never mind its rows of identical brothers over in the corner.

"I can't believe that's what I missed out on while your father was trying to buy me off," he said, lunging one last time and hurling her sword right out of her hands. Beaten. Defeated. It's only the first lesson, she reminded herself, and already you've learned so much.

"That and the pie. You never had any."

"How dare you remind me I missed out on pie!" Will shouted, pointing his sword right at her. "Are you up for round two?" She shook her head. "I have to defend my honor some way."

"Come back to the house." She rolled her eyes, placing her hands on top of his, lowering his sword. "I'm sure there is something there that will be to your liking."

Blushing at her words, that didn't stop him from leaning down to kiss her.

* * *

**A/N: If you want to read more in detail about the rumor that a pirate is Elizabeth's father, please see _The Pirate in Her _and _Love's Conspiracies. _This story is technically the sequel to _Love's Conspiracies_, if you will. Special thanks to Ron Wattanja's website that gave me all my ship information. It wasn't used so much here, but it will be. Please let me know what you think so far!**


	3. Chapter 3

340 Days Before

Perfect, Jack smiled down at his charts. The course he planned out would get them to Isla de Muerta within minutes. An island that cannot be found except by those who already know where it is. He scoffed at the legends. More like an island that cannot be found except by those who have a rudimentary knowledge of geography and sailing. Standing near the bowsprit, his hands bearing his weight, he exhaled at the engulfing fog.

"She's cutting through," he heard up from the helm, peering down and trying to catch sight of the water rippling out of the way of the _Pearl_'s keel. "Orders, Captain?"

"Prepare a longboat." Circling back around, he searched for Gibbs. "Might need an extra set of arms to plunder all that treasure, I'd wager." Gibbs' grin matched his own.

"Aye, that be true." Gibbs lumbered across the deck and climbed into the longboat, waiting for Jack to follow suit. "I suppose, though, just one coin would do it, though." Far enough away from the rest of the crew, the boat lowering an inch at a time, he added, "Davy Jones can't take what can't be killed."

"Indeed not."

He'd given the matter plenty of thought, more than was required. He thought about it while in jail and while tackling the late night shift at the helm with only the stars to listen to him debate over and over again. Rum was good, but it wasn't that good. Wenches were nice, but not that nice. But freedom from death, ah, that was worth a slight curse. At the very least, it would buy him enough time to find the key, and then he would simply sail back to this dank, insignificant island, return said coin, adding in a few drops of blood for good measure, and then…literal smooth sailing.

"'I have immortal longings in me,'" he murmured to himself, taking the oars. Funny how Cleopatra uttered those words and yet achieved her immortality by her death, he thought, shaking the thought from his mind.

"Where be this island?" Gibbs asked behind him, also rowing, dooming himself to a near future of chest and shoulder soreness, Jack mused, his own shoulders beginning to feel the familiar burn. As he paused in rowing to retrieve his compass from one of his pockets, he wondered how it would feel rowing back to the ship without that feeling, without muscle cramps or tender bruises or rum-induced headaches. He threw the lid of the compass up with so much anticipation it flew from his hands, almost splashing right into the sea if not for an agile catch.

"Right ahead, mate. We'll see it when the mist lets up." As if it ever does that around here. Leave it to Barbossa to select the most macabre setting to horde his spoils. Any moment now. That cavernous black rock would show itself, warding off any potential raiders with its foreboding appearance.

"Nothing but open ocean," Gibbs said, standing in the boat, scratching his head.

Jack gave his compass a shake. Its arrow spun in a complete circle, stalled, and then settled back to the wet abyss in front of them.

"What kind of…it ain't here, Jack."

"Don't say that yet," Jack ordered, holding up a finger, his arm tensed and waiting. He squinted into the blue darkness. How hard is it to miss a skull-shaped island, he thought, pausing his search to stare at the rocking boat below him.

"It ain't here."

"It is. It is. Bloody hell, we were just here!" he snapped, willing his eyes to bore through the thick fog. "There! Row there."

They resumed their positions and rowed a few feet ahead into the murkiness, hearing the boat scrape against a rough texture. A long stretch of rock, most likely the skull's forehead, was all that could be seen above the water, curving up into a gentle arch just like human bone.

Jack swallowed. Sinking. Disappearing. Eyes wide, he stepped onto the narrow strip of land and walked its perimeter.

"What are ye going to tell the men?" Gibbs asked from the boat.

Still scanning for the gold, for anything shining up from the seabed, he didn't answer. The devil take the men, he wanted to say, but considering what his own situation would be in less than in a year, he tightened his lips. Kneeling, he dipped a hand into the water, crisp without the sun's rays beating down on it. It stung so much jerking it out Jack stumbled backwards. Rapacious sea! He crawled back to the edge and smacked the water.

"What use could it possibly have for all that gold?" he groaned out loud, the cogs in his mind refusing to turn.

"We'd best be heading back to the _Pearl_, Cap'n," Gibbs called. "Looks like what's left don't have long for this world."

Jack crept back to the boat, steadying himself so as not to slip into the water.

"So it's the key now?"

"Aye, no alternative," Jack said, climbing into the boat. "Looks like hell decided to give it a second taste." He gave the island one last glare. "Shove off, shall we?"

Cutting through the soft sound of rippling water came a shrill screech. Both men half-turned to see a small figure still shrouded in the fog.

"Oy!" Jack called. "Show yourself!" He readied his pistol. Another shriek answered him, echoing into the mist. A few light footfalls followed. Taking aim, Jack waited.

More and more of an outline could be seen, the form scooting towards them, until a familiar monkey approached them, cocking its head at them in surprise. Still clad in its small blouse and vest, it stood up on two legs and clicked its tongue at them. With nothing shiny in its small grubby hands, paws, Jack corrected himself, he fired. The sudden explosion broke through the silence, resulting only in another piercing shriek.

"Bloody hell…it went right through him!" Gibbs ran over and fingered the smoking bullet a few feet behind the monkey, recoiling at its still-hot touch. "Searing, it is. At least luck smiles on ye when ye want to hit something!" He grimaced at the realization his captain was not amused. "Wait, Jack! Don't fire till I'm out of the way." He ran back over to Jack while the monkey licked its paw and began preening.

"That currish popinjay cheated me out of me coin," Jack said so flatly Gibbs crossed in front of him.

"Come now, Jack. It ain't his fault. He don't know any better. He's a dumb animal."

"I have my doubts," Jack said, pouting over Gibbs' shoulder at the monkey. "Well, he can share his master's fate. Into the boat."

"Wait, wait a minute," Gibbs said, hurrying after him. "The sea's about to swallow up what's left of this God-forsaken place. An eternity of drowning's no way to spend it." He clapped his hands against his thighs, motioning for the monkey to join them. The monkey scampered over to Gibbs and leapt up onto him, settling on his shoulder. Wincing at the tight grip it held, he twisted his face into a smile. "Think of it this way—something don't go your way, you can take out your frustrations on him and there won't be any consequences."

For a long time, Jack glared at the monkey while he rowed back to the ship. It scrunched up its little face, gave out a squeak, and hopped down off of Gibbs' shoulder. In the middle of the boat, it looked at one man, and then the other, to and fro like it was watching a shuttlecock.

"I'll not be hearing ye calling it Jack."

"We can change his name."

"A few ideas come to mind," Jack muttered, glancing over at the nearly-swallowed Isla de Muerta.

"Ocean's claiming yet another mystery," Gibbs murmured.

"Aye."

"The sooner we get out of this fog, the better," Gibbs said, changing the subject. "Already I miss the sun. You'll get us a plan for getting' that key and everything'll turn up ship-shape as before. A fellow could get lost out here." He shivered. "Wouldn't be surprised if the crew felt another _Palatine _was in the works."

"How's that?"

"Passenger ship, legitimate, headin' out to the colonies one winter. Well, those eager journeymen got more than they bargained for, a series of storms plaguing their ship. But that wasn't all that was brewing, oh no."

Jack could not help but lean forward a little, although his expression remained unchanged. It was moments like these that Gibbs could render him a little child in bed again, listening to his mum's stories, listening as attentively to the old ones as if it were the first time he'd heard them. Whenever she spun a new one, she had him entranced, even when he was older and knew it was always better not to look entranced when something entrancing came along.

"Below decks the real trouble was brewing," Gibbs continued. "Mutiny, always an ugly thing, even when it's deserved. Captain murdered, the crew went downright feral with their power, imprisoning the passengers, forcing them to pay out the nose for bread and water. Just when they'd had about all they could take, they discovered one morning the crew abandoned ship. Wouldn't you k now it, another squall comes its way, and the _Palatine _can only endure, can't fight; ain't got no one to fight for her. Just about in ruins, she gets to Block Island where the shore folk rescue the starving passengers. So as not to endanger any passing ships, they set the thing ablaze. Better the ocean take her ashes. Just when they think they've got everyone, they hear the wildest scream imaginable. It's too late to go back for her, she's just a mad woman, they justify, and so she goes down with the ship, and she and the _Palatine _float by every once in a while up near Block Island, flames and all."

"Left for dead," Jack said to himself, recalling his three days of dehydration and hallucinations after the mutiny. "No, we don't want the crew thinking that, do we?"

Rowing back in silence, they climbed back onto the _Pearl_, the monkey beating them up over the rail. Cotton's parrot took notice, flapping its wings.

"Scurvy knave! Scurvy knave!"

"Finally, we're in agreement," Jack grunted, throwing his leg over the rail. "Luft the sail! Quick now. What's the delay here?"

"Captain," Marty said, running over to him. "Colors not far away." He handed him the spyglass. "They got all their lamps lit, else we wouldn't be able to see them, not in this fog. It's almost like they want to be seen."

Jack knew why, lowering the spyglass.

"Norrington."

* * *

334 Days Before

Days into the chase, Jack began to feel more like a mouse pursued by a housecat than anything else, encountering a ship at every turn. Turning a crate over, he splayed his charts over it, his fingers wiggling in the air.

"Need, need…" he trailed off, snatching a handful of raisins from a passing crewmen, he scattered them over the chart. "Has a ship there." He positioned one. "One there." It wasn't long before he saw the pattern. Cornering the mouse into the mousetrap. "He's trying to force us into Port Royal."

"There's some mountains in the East there." Gibbs pointed to Port Royal on the chart. "We could hide out, resupplied, wait them out."

"Commodore Norrington's not the sort of man who can be waited out," Jack said unblinkingly to the chart. Good Lord, the number of years the man must have spent waiting for the opportune moment to propose to Lizzie alone made his head spin. His fingers tapped the crate. Think, Jackie boy, think, he told himself. What does Norrington expect? Even after letting his eyes close, they still rolled at the question. Norrington, like everyone else, expected him to run. Avoid. Circumvent. Elude. "He wants us in Port Royal. That's where we'll go."

"That sounds a might conceding, Jack."

"Sounds like does not equate to 'is,' Mr. Gibbs." He smoothed out the chart and plucked the raisins off of it.

"Jack," Gibbs sighed, shaking his head. "The only way that would be a good idea is if the ships were positioned someplace else."

Jack answered him with a disarming grin.

* * *

333 Days Before

Still picking up the aftermath of the _Black Pearl_'s last siege, the townsfolk of Port Royal bustled all around the street, paying Jack no mind. Everywhere he looked men stood on ladders replacing panes of glass, women swept up debris into dustpans while dodging random chickens, and even a few children sat around on the litter, trading bits of junk for other bits of junk, claiming each one had some special connection to the pirates. One could grow used to such anonymity, he thought, strolling by the tackle shop. With all of Norrington's men positioned between here and Barbados, it left only a precious few at the fort, and they certainly had their hands full cleaning up after Barbossa's mess.

Just a few more shops and he would be at the smithy, unfortunately. It was a very roundabout way of executing a plan and Jack certainly was not satisfied with it, but one does not simply walk up to the governor's mansion, either. A small purse full of gold and his word as "a good man" had to be enough for Will to agree to bring Lizzie to the shop, although it was one too many messengers. Well, he mused, there's no reason to save your shots now.

Snorting at the thought, he squeezed through a group of men carrying materials for re-thatching a roof and almost dismissed the glimpse he caught of her as wishful thinking, but it was her, Lizzie Swann, walking down the street with her maid.

Tiptoeing into an alley, he waited. New plan. Simpler plan! Simpler plan that did not involve Will in any capacity. Squatting down, he gathered up a few pebbles. One does not simply walk up to the governor's mansion just as one does not risk capture by waving down someone on the other side of the street. Not too hard now, he warned his arm, flinging the pebble in her direction.

Elizabeth halted in the middle of the street as if she ran into a wall, her hand flying up to her ear. Cringing, he matched her look of irritation and pain as she turned in both directions to see who the blackguard was that threw rocks at her. Just taking half a step forward into the sunlight, he exhaled when she saw him, her eyes wide. Inching back into the alley, he heard her footsteps slow.

"What are you doing back?" she whispered, gazing up at him as if he were stupid.

"That is hardly a proper conversation starter," he said. "Try starting with something more neutral, like current events or the weather."

Reacting to the commotion just outside the alley, she crammed herself deeper into the alley, less than an arm's length from him, only a propped-up carriage wheel between them, barely visible in the shadows.

"You need to find a way out of here," she hissed, her eyes still frantic. "They've sent ships out looking for you. The reports about you are being issued out every single day."

Rubbing his eye, Jack wondered if he should feel flattered for a brief moment and ask her to pick up one for him to take back.

"Where's your ship?"

"She's safe," he whispered back. "Anchored out near the mountains for the time being."

"You walked here?"

"Don't know anyone else here, do I, darling? Now, I am prepared to compensate you, but seeing as I've saved your life over and over again, I'd hardly think that would be necessary…"

"Jack."

"If one were to take the time to ponder it, you would be at the bottom of that inlet yonder where you fell, not at present, of course. Someone would have fished you out and there would have been some business with the local undertaker and all…quite the discomforting notion, isn't it?"

"You're wasting time if you think I need to be talked into helping you out of here," she said.

Jack frowned, knowing he should have felt a twinge of confidence at being able to skip the manipulation step, but instead felt as if he had been pushed off that fort instead of her.

"Fine." Taking her arm, he led her around the wheel, her hips pressing against his. "I need the ships rerouted."

"What?"

"Now's not the time to be prudish, love. I know the hold you've got on him, whether you're his betrothed or not."

"It's not that. Jack." Her head fell, those normally fiery eyes focused on the cobblestone underneath them. Shaking her head a few times, she finally brought her face back up to look him in the eyes. "The last time I saw James was the same time you last saw him. He didn't even want to speak to me before he left."

"Broke his heart that badly, did ye?" His head fell back against the wall, his eyes closed in thought. Last time you bank on any one thing ever, he thought, except for the key. And the chest. Apparently, loving Miss Swann seemed to be nothing but a pretense for going no-holds-barred mad, the obsessive nature of Norrington's pursuit at last making sense.

"You know I didn't want to," she said, her tone more combative, the tone he knew best. "My father would be able to reroute the ships."

"He has that much influence?" He opened his eyes and looked back down at her, face hopeful, calculating. It was all he needed. "Tell him you heard from me. That should do the trick."

"What location should I give him?"

"Anywhere," he said too quickly. "Anywhere but Constantinople," he added. Suddenly choosing the _Pearl _over searching for the key seemed to be less than good judgment on his part. His forehead knitted at the short look of disappointment on her face.

"Estrella." She bent at the waist and motioned for her maid to come over to them.

"Miss, what are you…" she gasped at the sight of Jack. Jack remembered her, the little bird-like maid that met up with Elizabeth at the jail, privy to all the escape plotting and conspiracy.

"There's no time to explain right now," Elizabeth said, her hand right at the level of the maid's mouth, ready to clamp the lips shut, Jack determined. "Go back to the house and pack up a meal for Father. We'll be going to see him directly. Go to the fort and wait for me in front of his office."

Without a word, Estrella disappeared back into the crowd. Too many messengers, he repeated to himself. At least it was better than what he had originally conjured—paying Will to bring Lizzie down to the shop just to tell her to go make more demands out of the Commodore.

"I suppose there's not enough time for you to write me a letter that I could show him," she scoffed, wedging herself back into the alley. Taking hold of his hand for balance, she curtailed the carriage wheel and resumed her original position.

Trying to think, he instead found himself all too aware she still had his hand, her face tilting downward and taking on a thoughtful expression. He followed it down to see her inspecting his sparrow tattoo, tracing the outline of the bird's wings with her fingers. Ought to invite her along, mate. Good company. Quick on her feet.

"I fell out of touch with the man that did it," he found himself saying. "But if you want one, I know a few who manage adequate work." Now that sounded bloody stupid.

"If I wanted a bird and a sunrise tainting my skin," she said, adding a playful bite to her words, "I'm sure I could get them on my own."

"What makes you think it's a rising sun?" he tested her.

"You're…" she trailed off, dropping his hand like it was a hot poker. "You're more a sunrise sort. Promise of adventure." She gave a fake smile and looked back out towards the street.

Not quite knowing what to make of that, Jack breathed and glanced back down at his tattoo, trying to see it from the perspective of someone who hadn't had it for fourteen years.

"Not enough time for a letter," he said, more to himself than to her, "But time for a gift. I have an idea." He pulled her back into the alley and slid one of his rings off. "Since you were so good as to assist with my escape of the hangman's noose, I might have felt it was only fair to send some gratitude with a little messenger boy, eh? You show him that, tell him a location, those ships will move. You can count on that, love."

It seemed like a reflex, taking her small hand in his and slipping a ring onto those slender fingers that knew how to shoot and sail just as well as they knew how to comfort. The memory of them running over his knuckles in the jail gave him a quick shudder. The gold and black sparkled even in the shadows. For a long time, or maybe it was only seconds, neither of them moved.

"Wait here," Elizabeth said, breaking away from him, her other hand protectively circling over the ring. "I'll come back with news."

Just before she reemerged, a thought came to mind and, with a smirk, he couldn't resist.

"Lizzie?" He waited for her to turn to him. "Make sure you act happy to have heard from me now."

* * *

**A/N: There was actually another story I really wanted to use for this chapter called The Ghost Ship of Captain Sandovate, but it was so eerily similar to both COTBP and DMC that it didn't feel right putting it in. I highly recommend reading the story and paying attention to the details. The story about Block Island is supposedly true; if the events aren't true, the story about them is still often told. "I have immortal longings in me" is from Shakespeare's _Antony and Cleopatra._**


	4. Chapter 4

333 Days Before

Hitching up her skirts, Elizabeth tore through the passersby on her way up to the fort, beginning a zigzag trail up the steep hill. Her head was in too much of a whirl to think of anything but conquering that hill, one step at a time, one exaggerated footfall after another.

"Miss!"

Flicking away a few drops of sweat on her nose, she squinted through the blinding sunlight to see Estrella, basket in hand, waving over at her. Elizabeth crossed under the archway and made a right turn to a corridor of heavy oaken doors that stepped out onto the veranda where she stood.

"Miss, what on earth is…"

"I'll fill you in as best I can," she puffed, catching her breath. She held Estrella's arm with one hand, the other bracing itself against her father's door. "When we go in there, please, just go along with whatever I say?" She waited for Estrella to nod and, inhaling, flung open the door.

"Elizabeth!" Governor Swann scooted out of his chair to greet her. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Hello, Father," she said, kissing his cheek. "We thought you would be getting hungry." She gestured at the basket.

"Oh, how thoughtful. Thank you, Estrella." He took the basket from her and set it on his desk. His back to her, Elizabeth started humming.

"I say, you're in quite the sprightly mood today."

"And why not?" She took a lock of her hair and began twisting it. "I heard from Jack today." She pursed her lips together to keep from laughing at Estrella's embellished gasp. Her father stopped dead in his tracks.

"What?" She answered his series of confused blinks with a dreamy grin. "I, I'd have thought…whatever did he want?"

"It's only natural to thank one's rescuer, isn't it?" she asked with a shrug. "It was I who kept the garrison from opening fire at him and Will, you remember."

"Don't remind me. So, that was all then, was it? Just a, a letter of thanks?"

"And this," she sighed, straightening her arm to admire the ring.

"You, you should have seen that letter, sir," Estrella said, stepping in between Governor Swann and Elizabeth when he marched over to examine her gift. "Most complimentary, it was. It wasn't two seconds after Perkins set it in the young miss's hands that all of us was gathered around her, reading it over her shoulder. Such a way with words! And what penmanship! Some of the other girls made mention of what else hands like that could do, but you know me, sir, not one to speak out of turn or upset refined young ladies."

Elizabeth snuck a smile at her.

"If it weren't for his mentioning of Virginia, I could hardly fathom where he might have bought it," she said.

"Yes," her father coughed. "Bought. Elizabeth, dear, I'm sure if you take the time to think about it, you'll come to the conclusion that that is stolen property you're wearing and…Virginia?"

"Oh, yes." She closed her eyes and bit the insides of her cheeks before gushing out, "He went on and on about how lovely it was and how he wished I could see it." She bit her lip when her father turned back to his desk, bent over it like a war tactician. The heat she was feeling in her cheeks was coursing over to her ears, her lungs fighting the urge to pant at telling her father such a lie. A nauseating concoction of guilt churned up her stomach at the same time she prayed he would believe her every word. "You know I believe Captain Richard Worley did his pirating up there, before his hanging, God rest his soul."

"God rest his soul," Estrella repeated.

"It would appear we aren't making the most of our fleet," Governor Swann said to himself, sitting back down at his desk and opening a drawer. He dipped his quill in the ink bottle and began writing at a ferocious speed. "I don't want you to argue with me on this point, Elizabeth. If the _Black Pearl _has been sighted north of here, then that's where they'll have to go. Lord knows it pains me to do this to a man who saved you, but…"

"I understand," Elizabeth said, her face solemn. "Well, Estrella, we'd best be going and finishing the errands, hadn't we?" She kept her eyes on her maid even when she stepped over to the desk and gave her father an embrace.

"Oh my, yes. So many things to do and I'd about forgotten them all in all the excitement," Estrella laughed. "If I could just see that ring again." Elizabeth held out her hand to her, knowing her father was watching them from the corner of his furious eye. "Such a beauty. It's not everyday a girl gets something like that. I'd watch that thing like a hawk if I were you, miss."

They exited at the same time, closing the door behind them. Elizabeth threw herself to one of the columns across from the door on the veranda, breaking into nervous laughter.

"You're too good a liar, Estrella," she said, swallowing her laughs.

"You're one to talk, miss. We're changing where all those ships are going, ain't we?"

"Precisely."

Estrella started to resume her own laughter until her face froze, her wide eyes and open mouth taking on more of a horrified expression.

"Miss, it might take days, weeks, for those ships to move! What'll we do? The most we have at the house is a stable and it'd be too much having the boys pretend he's not there…"

"Estrella." Elizabeth took her by the shoulders. "You're worrying over nothing. Trust me. We need to hurry back to the house, though."

"What are you coming back with me for when you've got your pirate waiting for you?"

"Provisions."

* * *

She passed the alley once, just in case someone should see. The wrapped-up parcel in her arms, she walked to the end of the street and back, feeling an immature wave of satisfaction that Jack probably wondered what she was doing passing him by like this. Approaching the alley, she scanned once more for…she didn't know what…and backed into the carriage wheel.

"Well?" Jack sat further back in the alley, peeling an orange.

"You'll be fine, I assure you."

"What did you tell him?'

"It's too humiliating to discuss," she said, kneeling down next to him and setting down the parcel between them. She stared at the orange, hoping the half-eaten part was his doing and he had not found it that way. "You know, I brought you a few things in case you found that in a gutter or somewhere unsavory."

"Ah, so you did. Let's have a look then, shall we?" He handed the orange off to her and motioned for her to finish it while he undid the strings. The aroma of the orange, so strong, seemed to clear her head. "Lead line?" He lifted out the bound coil of weighted rope. "Good girl, good girl."

"You won't ask where I got it?"

"You won't tell me all about your humiliating deception, which is the best kind of deception of all," he said, inspecting the line and then pausing to half-turn to her, waiting.

"James replaced the _Dauntless_' one before he left and left this one at the house by mistake," she said, blushing that it really wasn't as good a story out loud as it had been in her mind. "There's nothing wrong with it."

"No, nothing wrong with it. One does need the finest and newest equipment, though, if one is to even come close to nabbing Captain Jack Sparrow, though, eh, love?" He shot her a crooked grin.

"Your ring is in there, too, in that handkerchief there." She pointed. "I didn't want anything scratching it, even though it does look as if it's seen better days. Oh, and these." She reached into the box and dug out a few charts. "These show the quickest and easiest routes out of Port Royal."

"Did the Commodore live with you to just have all this lying around?" he quipped, taking out his ring.

"Certainly not!" she snapped, jerking her head up to scowl at him, but saw by his face he'd meant it as a joke. "I worked on these when you were still in jail."

"Did ye?" He raised an eyebrow at her and unfolded them. She could hear the question in his mind, how she knew to chart courses in the first place, but he never asked it, instead scrutinizing them, studying them. "Ye have the knack for it, I'll give you that, but given the current situation, none of these will do."

"Good," she said, trying to save face. "I can't do all the work."

His eyes still on the chart, she smiled at his laugh. It had an appreciative ring to it.

"Only because…look." He splayed the chart down between them. "There's already a ship there," he said, pointing. "And there. Otherwise, it'd be fair." He rolled it back up and placed it back into the box. Holding the sides of her skirt as she stood, she kept her back pressed into the wall, not about to lose her balance and provide inadequate courses both.

"What's your plan for leaving?" she asked, suddenly feeling like looking everywhere but at him. She concentrated on the colorful flashes of townspeople passing by.

"For once I can go exactly the way I came in," he whispered. "You're talking to the man who knew the man who brought the men to this very port and nearly ravaged it dry…making all that work for those men out there." He flailed his hand towards the street. "For once Barbossa was good for something, eh?" Elizabeth smiled at his smug leer. "Wretch would be turnin' in his grave if he knew…or had a grave."

"It's a bit unsettling the amount of pleasure you take in that, Jack," she warned.

"If ye only knew, love, if ye only knew. Well then, I shall be traversing past them all now." He bent over a fraction. "Where's me kiss?"

"Excuse me?"

"Don't play daft, Lizzie. Ye gave me one right here when I was led up to the gallows." He tapped his cheek. "Apparently it's all well and fine to give me one when I'm about to die but not when I've got my health and am in my prime?"

Her lips curled in and hid inside her mouth, her throat going dry. Maybe there's good reason this will be the last time you'll ever speak, she thought. One day she might grant him his request.

"Come on then, love. Loads of women have given me goodbye kisses."

"Is that all they gave you?" she asked with a raised eyebrow, sure he would know what she was implying. The way he looked her up and down was more than enough confirmation.

"We don't have time for much else."

Feeling herself blush so intensely it felt like an oncoming fever, she restrained both his hands with her own and kissed him on the opposite cheek. Too close. He was too close to her.

"Stay safe, Jack," she whispered to him, inches from his face.

"Likewise, darling." He played with a long loose strand of her hair as he made his way out, disappearing into the crowd. The cawing of the gulls overhead and the pounding of hammers amidst all the chatter played in her mind like a theatrical chorus marking a hero's exit offstage. It wasn't until she stretched her hands out on the cold stone behind her that she realized they'd been sweating. Sticking them into her pockets to wipe them off, she felt something metallic in one of them. Her fingers gathered the tiny object, knowing what it was before she did.

Elizabeth's bottom lip fell upon seeing the ring in the palm of her hand.

* * *

**A/N: Richard Worley was a pirate who worked in the Caribbean and up in the thirteen original colonies and was hanged in 1719. A lead line is a sailing tool that sailors threw into the water to see how deep it was and what kind of ocean floor they were dealing with. I have Rob Ossian's Pirate Cove website to thank for these tidbits. Do not own POTC.**


	5. Chapter 5

329 Days Before

The way the sun shone off the island of St. Lucia onto the water made it seem as if the _Pearl _had sailed on diamonds when it pulled into port. Jack tied off the last of the ropes, the sensuous mountains and valleys of the island all he could see. The crew ran past him into town, their small sacks of gold strung over their necks and hips jingling down the pier. Business first, pleasure later, Jack said to himself, lingering behind and waiting for the men to disappear into the shops and caravans. They'd browse over a few cartfuls of souvenirs before tossing every coin at the nightlife. Once they were out of sight, he skidded down the street and across the plaza of the town until he found himself staring up at vast porches and wide columns. The grand mansions district, he thought to himself, searching for the one with the black windows and gate.

It stood at the end of the street, a massive meringue house with black Spanish shutters against every window on its flat façade. Jack kept a hand on his pistol, knowing with every step he took to the back garden was a step closer to a potential ambush.

"Welcome to St. Lucia, Jack Sparrow," he heard, approaching the gate.

"Jocard," Jack said, processing every little detail on the man. "They said you liked being referred to as a gentleman, but I never anticipated you to live in a place like this...or neglect to address one by one's title." His usual ensemble of animal pelts and teeth were replaced by a plain gray smock and vest.

"There is something to be said of the noble class," Jocard said, rolling his eyes and unlocking the gate. "The more power and money they have, the less observant they become. Either that or I blend in too well." He flashed a rare smile.

"It's the former, mate," Jack said, stroking his braided goatee, leading Jocard to touch his own. "One would think with a garden like this they would know how many slaves tend it. Never thought you'd stoop so low, though, I have to say."

Amid the emerald foliage were dozens of flowers, some dangling down from their stems and vines like flamingos, others so clingy and starched they seemed more like tiny stars. The vaporous air strengthened in this garden somehow, Jack noted, feeling his skin moisten beneath his clothes.

"Posing as a slave? Consider this." Jocard held up a wide ring of keys. "There are twenty-four rooms in that house and Gentleman Jocard has been in every one of them."

It was easy for Jack to picture it, Jocard tending a few of the amaryllises and ginger, one eye on the house waiting for the taskmaster to leave. Into the house Jocard would go and out he would come with some priceless work of art or ancient family heirloom, handing it off to a crewman at this very gate to take back to the ship. It couldn't work for very long, but while it did…

"Do ye have it?"

"Ah. Jack, you should let me go in and get you something." Jocard gestured to the back door, the large table and umbrella blocking most of it. "St. Lucian hospitality."

"I do like that brand of hospitality, but one can't help but feel something is going to jump out from all the jasmine and calabash." Jack brushed a few fallen leaves and pollen off his coat. Still Jocard remained motionless, his perfectly proportioned features drooping in shame. Jack demanded again, "Do ye have it?"

"I don't have it. But let me explain."

"It had better be entertaining," Jack threatened.

"Your, your father was here…"

It took all of Jack's strength to not ready the trigger of the pistol. "So when I stated through our correspondence to, under no circumstances, place the conviction notice, the conviction notice that I need, no less, in anyone else's hands, it was in fact the latter part of those instructions which warranted confusion, leading you to place said conviction notice in someone else's hands. Eh? Correct me if I'm wrong."

"It was your father. Where I come from, a son can trust his father." Jocard stood a little higher, his lips tight but his eyes judging.

"Well my father comes from the Cove," Jack growled under his breath. "Where is he?"

"Jack…"

"He must not have been too pleased to see a pirate lord such as yourself pirating outside your jurisdiction…"

"If you would stop and listen as well as you observe for once, it would do you good," Jocard interrupted. "Your father is being held at the jail, Captain Falkenburg's conviction notice still among his effects. He was arrested the same day he met up with me, trying to get the notice, trying to get it for you."

"Comes a time when one must pay for one's mistakes," Jack murmured.

"I would have helped him had I known sooner," Jocard said. "My ship is supplied now. My men appeased. Today is the day I leave here, but I will not risk breaking into a jail."

"Then you haven't been a pirate long enough," Jack said, patting him on the arm.

"You mean to get him out?"

"Have to, don't I, if he has what I need?" Jack took a few steps backward from the gate, making his way at a snail's pace around the house to the street. "Lovely structure, this." He set his palm on the warm wood of the house. "If I saw Captain Teague prowling around my chateau, I would have had him arrested on the spot as well. One has to keep one's begonias safe, eh, especially if one has started to wonder if said one has misplaced a few possessions."

"Now, wait." Jocard followed him. "You cannot say I am the one to blame for his arrest. He came here for you."

"Aye, that he did, and it must have been a sight to behold, roguish scoundrel like that infiltrating your clandestine little operation here. I understand practicality, sir. Breaking him out would have only done you and your crew harm, what with your lack of experience into breaking into jails. God speed, Gentleman Jocard. I shall go collect what I came to collect." He turned his back on Jocard and strolled out onto the street.

"You impugn my honor, Jack Sparrow!" Jocard stomped after him, rolling his eyes at himself.

"Honor? When did I ever care about a thing like that? You should feel no guilt whatsoever."

"I will not be absolved by the likes of you," Jocard grunted. "I cannot believe I am saying it, but I will help you free your father. Come. It is the middle of the day. The jail should not be too crowded."

"Lead the way," Jack said with a smirk.

* * *

Much like the Port Royal jail, the St. Lucia jail was a long corridor of cells, most of them empty, with the festering smell of wet hay emitting from them. Apparently the humid island lacked any semblance of a dry spot, Jack thought, hearing droplets of water drip onto the floor.

"Now look at this exhibit, Jocard," Jack said, bending down, a hand on his knee, pointing at Teague. "This is what is commonly known as the sea cow. A gentle giant, it swims about in the rivers and grazes on the seaweed. They're a docile bunch, but as you can see from its hefty supply of fat, don't stand in the way between it and its meal."

"I 'spect then that I'm not worthy to be carrying this around." Teague waved the conviction notice around like a flag, smiling at the fact Jack's eyes followed it. "Looks enough like grass to munch on."

"I'll shoot ye dead, old man, if ye dare try."

"Well, that was a change in tone, but not the one I wanted." Teague stood. "How ye been, Jackie?"

"We haven't much time," Jocard noted, his eyes on the sunlit exit. "Do what you must to free him."

"Ye can get me out of here, boy?" His leathery face relaxed in astonishment, his neck and shoulders flexing with pride.

"Let's just have a look at these hinges, shall we?" Jack cracked his knuckles, scolding himself for being so eager to impress. He breathed a sigh of relief to see they were half-barrel hinges. "All one needs is the proper leverage." The three scanned the corridor, as barren as a wasteland.

"Any other ideas?" Teague asked in a dry tone.

A shadow filled the exit, footsteps approaching. Jack could make out the silhouette of a tri-corner hat and a bayonet on the end of a rifle.

"Indeed I have." He motioned for Jocard to follow him, the latter smiling in understanding. Pressing his back into the wall, Jack held his pistol by the barrel and waited as Jocard met the young soldier face-to-face.

"Good afternoon." Jocard bowed.

The young man shook, his trembling hands reaching around his bandolier for his rifle. It took no time for Jack to leap behind him and bring the butt of the pistol down over his head.

"So young," Jocard noted, cocking his head at the man, now slumped over on the ground.

"Can see the beginnings of a moustache there," Jack agreed. He leaned down and frisked the man's torso until he pulled out a key. "Ah!"

"Brawn works where brains don't, eh?" Teague asked, his hands casually dangling through the cell bars.

"Out is out."

The door creaked open, allowing Captain Teague to step out in an exaggerated, dignified manner. He reached for his belt hung up on the wall, two holsters built in for pistols. The three glanced into the exit, saw no one else on patrol, and oozed their way out of the jail. Hurrying down the streets, Jocard cut in front of them and turned onto the street where the meringue house stood. Hurling the key ring up onto front porch, he jogged back over to them.

Down to the shipyard, Jocard clasped their hands and shook them and then threw off his smock and let it fall into the water. He strutted down the dock, chest bare, to the _Ranger_ where his crewmen emerged from the ship, adorning him with his pelts, his headdress, his earrings. Suddenly, he turned and ran back to them, the Gentleman Jocard they were familiar with and knew.

"From St. Lucia," he said, handing both of them each an orchid. "From the garden, specifically. It is the flower that symbolizes the rarest beauty, or so I am told. I shall remember this place fondly, as I hope do you. God speed."

Jack and Teague both squinted at the delicate flowers they held, then back up at each other. Pocketing their latest acquisitions, they positioned themselves across from each other.

"The notice, if ye please," Jack said first. Teague pulled it out and laid it in his hands. After hearing story after story of the infamous Captain Falkenburg, he would at last know which prison in which to find him.

"Jackie, lad, don't tell me you're going after him."

"He's the only one the stories mention about seeing the key. Each version says he drew it on some cloth. If he's seen it, he knows where it is."

"Don't ye think if someone actually saw Davy Jones' key they wouldn't live to tell the tale?" Teague sighed.

"No."

Teague rolled his eyes and smacked him in the back of the head.

"Oy! You're smarter than that! Now do what ye can to erase your debt, but don't let yourself get sucked in on some wild goose chase. Now I see you're back with the _Pearl_. Good fortune, that was, but enough's enough." He turned to go, but twisted his neck to still face Jack. "You're welcome for getting' that notice to ye, by the way."

"Oh. Thank you." He gritted his teeth, wondering if his father needed a ride, wondered if his presence would taint the _Pearl. _"Need a lift?"

"The _Golden Queen_'s across the island waitin' for me," Teague said, smiling. "There's bound to be a lass back at the Cove in want of this." He tapped his pocket. "Suppose it'll wilt before I get there, though? Ah well. Find yourself a lass, Jackie-boy!" He waved goodbye to him and ambled back to town.

It was the same song Jack always received from him these last several years. Nice to see ye, Jackie boy, married yet? 'Bout time to be gettin' your affairs together and settlin' on an heir for that Piece of Eight, eh? If he had the time and the talent for it, he would sit down and compose an actual song to the words.

* * *

321 Days Before

_An ancient creature, one that ruled the world back in the time of giants and dragons, slurped its way across the ocean, so deep only the faintest rays of sunshine made their way down to it. It edged along, most of its tentacles swaying lifelessly with the current. But it was far from lifeless, spying its prey off in the distance with an enormous hollow-looking eye. Its slimy arms straightened behind it as it darted through the water. In seconds, it latched onto a whale, the only worthy opponent around, equally magnificent and otherworldly._

_The deep groaning of the whale's song ended, a few tentacles slithering down its throat. Bucking and gnawing down on the tentacles, the whale's colossal head was soon covered in the creature. With a beak-like mouth, it maneuvered on top of its victim, resembling a gigantic stomach, and bit into mammalian flesh…_

Jack's eyes snapped open, his body completing a single, consuming spasm. His tongue ran over dried lips. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the bulkhead of his cabin. Not in the sea, he calmed himself, thrashing his sheets off of him. After that, he was in no mood to be cinched by anything. Sitting up, he held his forehead, still adjusting to being in the cabin rather than the dark oblivion of the ocean, watching that…that thing morsel whatever it could get its alien arms around. Sinking back down, he closed his eyes, only to envision the same thing over again.

"Bugger," he breathed. You're too old to be having night terrors. Could take the next shift, relieve whoever was up at the helm, he considered. And be groggy all next day? He snorted. Knowing his luck that would be the day all the signs of an oncoming mutiny would be in front of him and he'd be too tired to catch any of them. Could read. He peeked over at his desk, knowing his row of books promised everything in the world but what he had just dreamed. It won't be your fate. It won't be your fate. He stood and retrieved _Julius Caesar _and adjusted the lamplight.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, contrary to what I was taught in grade school way back when, there is no way any giant squid or octopus could be evenly matched against a whale. Sperm whales chow down on giant squids. Most of what we know about giant squids is from studying the contents of sperm whales' stomachs. This is a dream about the kraken. I grossed myself out and gave myself a new phobia looking up information about squids and octopi and gave the kraken characteristics of both. I hope something else starts to haunt Jack's dreams soon… The Captain Falkenburg referenced in this chapter is first mentioned in _The Sparrow's Journey_. He's a legendary figure that claimed to have seen the key to the dead man's chest and therefore, Jack must go meet him if he wants to stand a chance against Davy Jones. Sorry if his motives for meeting up with Jocard and Teague were unclear.**


	6. Chapter 6

319 Days Before

"Take off those boots!" Estrella screeched at Perkins. The sudden movement almost made her slam down Elizabeth's breakfast plate on the table. She and her father glanced over at Perkins, running an annoyed hand through his blonde hair. The mud from the stables was still fresh, slopped onto the toes and heels of his boots.

"No need to shout at me, heifer!" He kicked them off and shot a glare at her.

"Don't call me a heifer, you unpolished ape!"

"Ahem," Governor Swann cleared his throat, his coffee cup still in his hand.

"Begging your pardon, sir," Estrella said in a much more hushed voice. "I understand that's no way to speak at the table."

"You're lucky Elizabeth doesn't have any food on her."

"Quite right, sir. My apologies, miss." She curtsied and waited for Elizabeth's nod before passing through the kitchen.

"Well," Governor Swann said, cutting his ham. "What all do you have happening today?"

"Tunist and the stationer," Elizabeth recited, "and after that I'll be having Estrella chaperone me to the smithy." She paused to gauge her father's reaction, the lack of one putting her less at ease than a disapproving one. "After my lesson, one of the codmen's wives had a baby and Estrella and I will be going to give our congratulations on behalf of the governor." She sat straighter and flashed an arrogant smile at him.

"I'm glad one of us has enough time to keep doing that," he sighed, standing. He'd been leaving the house earlier and earlier. Fisher met him at the door and draped his coat over him.

"Is everything all right, Father?"

"Fine, my dear, fine. Now." He crossed back to the dining room and kissed her forehead. "Be careful and I'll see you this evening. Elizabeth." He turned back once more. "Don't come to the fort today."

About to open her mouth, he marched out the door and into the carriage.

"What's happening at the fort?" she asked Fisher.

"Don't ask me, miss. It seems all I do is open and close the door," he sighed, hobbling back to one of the sitting rooms. Elizabeth shook her head and wrapped her shawl over her shoulders. Hopping from one stone to the other to avoid the mud, she stuck her head into the stable.

"Perkins?"

"Yes, miss?" Almost thirty, he still had such a boyish look about him, she noticed, long lashes and fair cheeks.

"I thought you had come inside."

"And went back out, miss. Let's just say I'm hiding out." He took a bucket of water into one of the stalls.

"From Estrella," she laughed. "Is there something happening at the fort, do you know? Did anyone in town say something?"

"Just that Beckett man, miss, I mean, Sir Beckett. Seems like everyone what comes into Port Royal these days means to cause a stir."

She met Beckett once before, willing to bribe him into using his influence to free Jack, she remembered, specifically remembering the intense cruelty bottled up in the man, as if there would come a day when he would unleash a furious amount of evil and reshape Port Royal in his own image, an inverted Sodom and Gomorrah, she thought. Especially if his right hand man…Mercer, she recalled, stood by him. Then there would seem to be no limit to the damage they could do.

"He's visiting the fort today?"

"Don't rightly know, miss." Perkins took his brush and step ladder and positioned it next to one of the horses. "Alls I know is every day the governor's left early, he's come back complaining about him. Do pardon me, miss." He waited for her to move. "Don't want to dirty up that fine dress now."

"Very good, Perkins," she said. "Once I find Estrella, she and I will be heading out for the day."

"Are you sure you won't be needing these for her then, miss?" He held out a bridle and a riding crop that had been hanging on the pegs, a mischievous grin stretching out on his thin face.

* * *

"Why would he be worried enough to forbid me from going up to the fort?" She took a swing at Will with one of the swords, the motion freeing some of her hair that had been tied back with a string. The clashing of weapons echoed throughout the shop.

"Everything you said about Beckett the last time you met him seems to imply he's not someone you would want to see," Will offered.

"If it's not the first time he's been up there, why would Father specifically say not to go today?"

"Watch your form. You're focusing on hitting my sword and not me."

"A day like today I could run you through by accident," she said, beads of sweat slithering down the back of her neck. The clanging swords deafened her to her own voice, a creeping sense of nausea closing in on her throat. Dizzy, she leapt backwards and held out her arm for him to stop.

"It's really upsetting you that much," Will sighed, taking the sword from her limp hand and returning both his and hers to the wall. "There's only one thing to do then."

Before she could catch her breath and ask what that was, the rickety door jiggled open, Mr. Brown mumbling to himself and staggering over to the chair in the corner.

"Sir?" Will enquired, taking a reluctant step over to him.

"Mph."

"Will, don't…" Elizabeth arched an eyebrow at the man, red-faced and bloated. It was how he'd always looked, ever since that day she and her father brought Will to the shop for the first time, knowing they left a boy in the hands of someone who never should have been allowed to handle metal, let alone a child. But today, slumped over in the chair, something appeared off.

"Sir?" Will tapped him, shaking his head and setting his jaw. Mr. Brown's entire body seemed to succumb to the light touch. Elizabeth peered at him from where she stood, all around the chair that was really too small for him, when she noticed an oily red spot. She followed it up to the slack wrist and gasped at the same time Will said, "He's dead."

"His wrist, Will. Look at his wrist!" Her hands flew up to her mouth, the veins in her own wrists suddenly feeling quite vulnerable.

Will lifted Mr. Brown's arm and flipped it over, his eyes widening at the gash. Letting it drop back down, he unbuttoned the dirty vest to find fresh blood stained all over a yellowed shirt. He pulled down the top of the shirt to come face-to-face with several long, deep cuts.

"Stabbed to death…" he breathed, unable to take his eyes off the fatal injuries. Reeling back from the body, he turned to Elizabeth. "We'll have to go to the fort now."

"What do you suppose happened?" Elizabeth blinked at the body, barely indistinguishable from a live one if one didn't look too closely. Holding hands with Will, she extended her other one to touch it, but drew her fingers back at the last minute. "A fight?"

"I haven't the slightest idea."

They weaved through the crowd and along the harbor, Elizabeth's mind conjuring a thousand and one unpleasant questions. What if someone found him and got to the fort before they did? What if that made Will look suspicious? What if he ends up arrested? All these receded from the startling realization that the cause for any suspicion was that the blacksmith shop was now Will's officially. It was hard to maintain any empathy or pity when the man who really did all the work would now also have the credit. Selfish, she scolded herself. A man is dead, probably murdered, and you don't even care. No, no, I don't care. It was that part of her mind that disturbed her the most.

"Mr. Brown is dead," Will said to Governor Swann, waking Elizabeth from her thoughts. "He came in and fell over dead. He's been stabbed. Whoever killed him is on the loose!"

The startled reactions of everyone coupled with her father sending soldiers out with Will to investigate blurred together for her. Someone propped a chair for her to take, another fanning her to prevent her from fainting.

"I'm fine," she said to the soldier.

"Oh. Do forgive me, Miss Swann, I…"

"I'm fine. Thank you."

Inhaling, she shook out a shiver and glanced around the office. A few red coated soldiers lingered, along with…good Lord, what impeccable timing…Beckett. She cursed the name, folding her hands in her lap and composing herself.

"Here, Elizabeth, I want you to drink this down." Her father bent over her, forcing a glass into her hand. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of rum.

"I thought the Swanns were of the temperance mentality," Beckett said from the other side of the room, surveying her like a vulture.

"We've never scorned using spirits for medicinal purposes," Governor Swann said, still looking at Elizabeth, pleading silently for her to take a sip. She pressed the rim of the glass to her mouth and tightened her lips, wetting them with the drink before swallowing some. Closing her eyes, she already felt much warmer than she did before, picturing her heartbeat returning to a normal rate. About to ask her father where he had gotten rum in the first place, she thought better of it when she saw Beckett's smug stare.

"You see, Weatherby, with pirates combing your streets and the lawful citizens being murdered, it stands to reason some…extra authority is warranted."

"Please, Cutler. Allow me to tend to my daughter in peace." He knelt over her, throwing a disgusted look at Beckett. "Elizabeth?"

"Really, I'm fine." She gulped down more of the rum. "It just, just gave me a fright is all. I didn't mean to intrude."

"Not at all, Miss Swann. I do apologize for seeming to be less than concerned about your current state." Beckett gave a half-bow to her. "Was this Mr. Brown a prominent citizen?"

"Blacksmith," her father said.

In name only, she wished to say, but wondered if mentioning the man's drunkard, violent lifestyle would appear more like a motive for an underappreciated apprentice than anything else.

"Trouble does seem to find you and Mr. Turner, doesn't it, Miss Swann?"

"Cutler. Perhaps we can reschedule this meeting for another time? Once an investigation is underway I'm sure my daughter and Mr. Turner will be under enough questioning without your contributions."

"Avoiding the facts will only end up hurting you," Beckett said. "Before this latest pirate siege, the odds of Port Royal being completely overrun by those barbarians were bad enough. Now they've skyrocketed. When one kind of crime increases, the rest go right along with it. You're lucky the latest findings have reported the _Black Pearl _herself to be up in Virginia and not still treating the Caribbean like her own little toy chest."

Elizabeth extinguished the budding smile on her face. She would have to tell Estrella their plan worked.

"The _Black Pearl _will not be coming back to Port Royal, Cutler, I assure you."

"Only because I'm here."

Elizabeth pondered the knowing demeanor Beckett possessed, how much truth there might be behind that statement. What kind of dealings would Jack have had to have with this man to make him fear him? Closing her eyes, she pictured her books opening by themselves, rifling through the pages for any and all references to Jack's past. Most of it she knew, at least the published parts, but she concentrated on recalling the exact wording.

_Wicked Wench…one hundred slaves from Khasso to Brazil…vanished from under the eyes of seven agents of the East India Trading Company…can be identified by several tattoos and scars, notably a sparrow and sun on his right arm and the standard pirate brand on the same arm._

_The brand is inches from her eyelashes, his hand brushing a few loose strands of hair out of her face. Unable to move, she only feels his other arm snake around her waist, pulling her even closer to him. His mouth slants into a casual grin, but she can see in those knowing eyes something building, something of the utmost seriousness as they lock onto hers. With trembling but determined fingers, she fastens herself to him, limbs surrounding him like ivy. And he lets her take, even bends her backward until he's all she can see. The warm kiss turns her blood into quicksilver, his skin into her air. Her own name is whispered in her ear, only with his endearing "love" after it, and that's all it takes. Arching her back, opening her legs, she aches for more of the consuming, searing heat…_

The sensation of cold fingers on her hand woke her like diving into ice water. Elizabeth groaned, sitting up in the chair, feeling something wet near her abdomen. Will knelt next to her, his hand taking the glass.

"It was about to drop," he explained, tracing all the subtle indentations and lines on her hand. "Are you all right? You look like you're coming down with a fever."

The back of her hand caressed her temple and then her cheek, her whole face burning. Straightening her back even higher, she caught her reflection in the mirror across the way. Bathed in sweat, she blushed and slowly rose out of the chair, her thighs quivering.

Will caught her arm and wove it around his.

"I'm so sorry this happened today, Elizabeth," he said, leading her out of the office. "I've told you about Mr. Brown and his gambling habits? Well, it seemed he lost quite a bit and was past the deadline for paying it back. Some people are so serious about money."

"Where's my father?" she asked, hoarse.

"He and Sir Beckett went to see the soldiers after I came back. I said I'd stay with you until you woke." He gave her a gentle smile. "You seemed so peaceful and then you started quivering."

"Quivering?" She felt her face grow hot again.

"Suffice it to say there would have been shards of glass everywhere had I not taken it from you," he laughed, patting her hand that was laced through his. He pecked her cheek and then left a slow, unhurried kiss on her lips.

"I suppose the blacksmith shop belongs to you now," she whispered.

"Yes. You should have seen the look on Beckett's face when they brought in the culprit. He already seems to have it out for me."

"Was he that disappointed?"

"Painfully disappointed." Will nodded. "I'm sure your society friends will make something more of the whole thing, though."

"They always do," she said, remembering their questions from their surprise party with a surprising amount of clarity.

* * *

**A/N: Warning! Character death! I thought about adding it above, but just didn't feel like too many people would be that bent out of shape about it. Plus this chain of events presents an....opportune moment for Will, as it were. Don't own POTC.**


	7. Chapter 7

310 Days Before

A full month after escaping the gallows and this is what you find yourself doing, Jack shook his head, pacing in front of the shop in Colonia del Sacramento. Ought to just break the glass and ransack the place.

A flicker of lamp light and the slamming of drawers from inside captured Jack's attention. He knocked on the window until the shopkeeper, a small bald man with large teeth, came to the door with a gummy grin.

"Evening, evening, _señor_. What can I do for you?"

Jack ducked his head upon entering the shop, cases upon cases of gems and precious metals glittering up at him. Arranged by color, he hovered over the gold section, skimming past the necklaces and earrings until he came to the rings.

"I need to replace a ring," he said, remembering pilfering the ring right from that widow's bedside table before making a fast getaway. "Gold band, onyx in the center, a few gold flowers on it? A few diamonds here and there? The closest thing ye have to it."

"When did you buy it?" The man finally shut his elongated mouth and searched the case.

Buy it, Jack scoffed. Captain Jack Sparrow does not need to buy anything. Not even now.

"Oh, a few years back, I daresay. Can't imagine your records would go back that far, especially seeing as I was only in town for a few days." Making the most of your widows, but there is such a thing as divulging too much.

"Ah, wait." Mumbling to himself, the shopkeeper moved back across the counter and opened a mammoth tome, turning the pages like a madman, each one filled with rich, lush drawings and paintings of jewelry. "I might be able to find what you're looking for in here… Please don't tell me you lost it." He gazed up with a horrified expression.

"No, mate," Jack said with a dismissive wave. "Gift."

"Is this it?" He heaved the tome up and pointed at a charcoal rendering so gorgeous Jack's fingers rubbed together in desire for it. There it was, his bold flower bloom with its leaves winding all around, set in a background of pure blackness, framed by gold itself. "Fortune is smiling on you, sir. Your ring was one of a set of twins. Just let me have a look here…" He produced his key and walked into the back area, taking a right to the fourth case, Jack noted, watching from the counter. "Yes! Yes, it is still here. It's a bit old-fashioned, sir, the ladies calling it a button nowadays. Is this it?"

"It is." The gold shone just right in the low light, the diamonds giving off a bluish gleam. He twitched at the price on the tag tied to it. Buy, indeed. "Might I enquire as to why, if said ring has fallen out of favor, you stand to gain so much profit by it?"

"Well, it is only one of two," the shopkeeper said, grinning from ear to ear. Jack cringed at the inadvertent maliciousness of such a wide smile, feeling the corners of his own mouth stretching to one-up it. "Since you are the owner of the previous one, I would be willing to negotiate the price."

"That's a good man."

"A shame you don't have the other one anymore," he said, tsk-tsking. "Should be together, these two. Two sides of the same coin, of a like mind, peas in a pod…"

"Thank you," Jack interrupted with just a hint of terseness. "I shall have to return when I have the appropriate amount of funds. Thank you ever so much for your time."

"Very well. Good evening!"

Jack rolled his eyes once his back was to him and headed down to the pier, seeing Gibbs come from the opposite side of the street.

"Jack!" He bustled over to him, his flask full, his new boots squeaking along the path. "The crew's loadin' up now, enough to see us through the winter, I gather, and that's if we don't come across any ships we feel like sacking. Well." He tapped his pistol, lodged into his belt. "I'm ready to tell ye what I want."

"Fancy that. So am I." Jack grinned.

"It's at the stationer's shop down that street on the left." Gibbs pointed down the slope. "It's just the main room, top shelf on the left. It's called _Moll Flanders_, Daniel Defoe."

"Oh," was all Jack could summon. A book? That was all the man wanted? "Mr. Gibbs," he cleared his throat. "While I do not have said story in my collection, which I'm sure is a masterpiece, to be sure, there are several of which I would be more than happy to permit you to borrow."

"Sorry, Jack, not my taste." He slapped his back. "Now what am I going after?"

Forget it, a tiny morality pet squeaked in his mind. A book is one thing. A priceless ring is something else. Shouldn't have given it away just like that anyway. It's your own fault.

"Jeweler," he said. "Back room. Make a right, fourth case. Gold and onyx ring with a flower in the center."

"Aye! Meet ye back at the _Pearl_."

Jack sauntered down the slope onto a wide street of shops, peppered with a few prostitutes standing under the lamps, most of which looked past their prime. The place was no Tortuga. With each step he discovered new things to call himself, cad being the most fitting. Sending Gibbs after that ring when all he wanted was a book. Let it go, another voice told him. You offered all of yours, and a more impressive collection of a man of your class and means has yet to be found. Everything from Boccaccio to Dante to Pucci. See, mate? Gibbs doesn't speak or read Italian and that's at least a third of your library wasted on him, poor sot. Shakespeare takes up the rest. Let's be rid of that guilt, shall we? Probably doesn't care for Milton or Marlowe. Yes. Readying his pistol, he held his breath, knowing if anyone could make robbing a stationer shop exciting, Captain Jack Sparrow could.

* * *

Unrolling the conviction notice of one Captain Sampson Falkenburg, Jack felt his thumb rub against the band of the ring, like it had never left. He would need to hire someone who spoke Turkish, only able to decipher half a dozen words on the notice, none of which proved helpful. He skimmed it again, cross-referencing the words with his charts, looking for any word that could be a city or region. Tia Dalma had told him Constantinople, but since when had she ever been completely straight with him? Always worth double checking, that one. Glancing over at his bed, he snapped his head back in the direction of the charts, pouring over them, willing himself to understand the foreign language. Perhaps some untapped part of his brain could be awakened tonight, he thought. For ten nights straight, tentacles slithered into his dreams and dragged him right into the mouth of Davy Jones. Mask-like faces of former victims floated about him, ghostly in pallor and vacant in expression, Bill the most prominent. Ol' Bootstrap, it was like looking at William, only instead of someone in his prime, so eager, so idealistic, it was withered, sullen. Empty. With no way to even scream…

Jack tipped his chair back and slammed the front legs back into the floorboards. Huffing at the abominations circling about in his mind, he opened a rum bottle and took a deep swig. Marching over to the door, he flung it open and poked out his head.

"Oy! Monkey!"

The jittery little thing sat on top of a barrel, nibbling on a few nuts.

"Monkey!"

It waddled in a circle until its back was to him. Jack rolled his eyes.

"Jack," he muttered. The monkey pranced over to him, only to scamper away after taking another bullet to the shoulder.

Jack allowed himself a curt smile before slamming the cabin door and plopping onto the bed, a few drops of rum sloshing out onto the floor. He had volunteered for the midnight shift, four hours from now, he recalled with a set jaw. He should be sleeping. A bit of the lamplight caught his button ring, the gold rim blinding him. He eyed it with pursed lips, wondering again why it was now a relic in the world of fashion. Perhaps Lizzie had known that and pawned it? Nonsense, he rolled his eyes. A girl of her status has no need to go pawning. He wondered if she had instead thrown it away, but could not picture her committing such an act.

What would she be up to now, he wondered, adjusting his head on the pillow. She'd seemed so pleased to run into him, that rum-burning, gamesome reincarnation of Teuta of Illyria. Even though it had only been out of the corner of his eye…fighting Barbossa tends to have that effect…he had taken some personal satisfaction in seeing her take out a man with one savage swing of a staff. Narrowing his eyebrows together in thought, he realized he couldn't name anyone else who so fit the mold of a fearsome warrior as well as the elegant lady who thought enough to bring him a bottle of rum after the battle was all over and he was confined to the _Dauntless' _brig. He'd been one hundred percent honest with her that night—about wanting to kiss her. It hadn't gone away, either, the times when she'd seen him at the Port Royal jail…hell, even in that alleyway waiting for her he'd thought about doing it. Good Lord, a thing like that would be bloody mind-erasing.

Kiss me goodbye, he had said on the second to last day he spent in jail before his hanging. She'd kissed his knuckles the day after, his cheek two days after, being led to the gallows, but it was the almost-kiss two days prior that held his focus now. Her eyes heavy and dark, her face coming closer to his, her hand on top of his own—so close. She wanted ye then, mate, he told himself, and no mistake. It had to be a pleasant, albeit cloying, feeling, being wanted by her…

* * *

"Ye been at that helm long enough," Jack said to Marty, who manned the _Pearl _standing on top of a lobster trap.

"It's 'bout thirty minutes or so till midnight, Captain."

"Ah, but so long as we continue sailing in this general direction, the human concept of time begins to scale forward, so much so we would gain an entire day if we went long enough. Hence, if by taking the helm now, thirty minutes ahead of schedule, it only follows we'll gain a day and thirty minutes by doing so. Savvy?"

"Sure you're well-rested enough?" Marty recoiled from the confident grin he had grown used to seeing, bits of gold in it shimmering off the moonlight.

"Oy! Questioning one's captain now, is it?" He swatted at him until he hopped down off the trap and side-stepped far away enough for Jack to take over. Shrugging, Marty had to admit it looked natural, even right, for Jack to be the one at the helm. Even at his most eccentric, most nonsensical, the men all felt the same childlike security when their captain was the one guiding the _Pearl_, whether through mild currents or raging squalls.

"No, sir. I'll be headin' down below decks then." Marty turned around once more.

"Sweet dreams, mate. Sweet dreams," Jack said without looking back at him.

* * *

**A/N: Google "Jack Sparrow Button Ring" to see the ring that plays such a prominent role in this chapter. It is flat-out beautiful and I'm not sure if I like it or the dragon ring best. I have such a soft spot for dragons, but the button ring…they don't make them like that anymore. There are lots of places that sell replicas of it if you want to see a detailed picture. Colonia de Sacremento is in present-day Uruguay. Teuta of Illyria back around 230 BC. She was a queen at war with present-day Albania and resorted to (successful) pirate raids, daring to tell the Roman Empire itself that piracy was legal in Illyria. They didn't like that answer. This was my least favorite chapter so far, and, I feel, the weakest, so if you believe it does not blow chunks, please lift my spirits and let me know. Good things are coming. Promise!**


	8. Chapter 8

296 Days Before

"Will! Will, let go for just a moment." Elizabeth pulled her hand out of his to gather up more of her skirt. Exhaling at being allowed a longer stride, she dashed over to him to keep up with his swift pace.

"I'm sorry. I just…" he trailed off, groping around in his pockets for the key to the smithy's door. Blacksmith hands, rough, she remembered, amused at the sight. It reminded her of a younger, gawkier Will Turner, never able to have full mastery of his hands or his tongue when she was near. Covering her mouth with a balled-up fist, she cleared her throat when he gestured for her to enter the shop before him.

Her mouth fell open, patched-up rafters and mended walls—now the only light came from the well-fueled fireplace in the center of the shop rather than the defiant rays of sunshine cutting through the roof.

"What do you think? Less shabby, isn't it?"

"Even Sampson looks as if he's been exposed to some major improvements," she laughed, bending down and scooping up some oats into her palm, feeling the rough tongue of the donkey nibble them. Running her other hand over his coarse fur, she peeked into the pail next to her to find a new brush and a few apples in it.

"We both spoiled ourselves with new shoes," Will said, tapping the floor with his new boots. "Of course, it will take some time before I can get the outside looking like how I want it. I'm afraid people will avoid it like the plague."

"Rubbish," she said, hands behind her back now, meandering around the shop. Was it always this small? She shook her head. Lately every building had seemed small, even the church, the biggest building in Port Royal aside from the fort. Sea's calling you, she mused. A vision crept into her head of peering out the smeared windows of the cursed _Pearl _and taking in the vastness of the ocean. Even Isla de Muerta's mist and the preeminent stench of her own death clogging her nostrils couldn't take away from it. What it must be like, seeing firsthand how big the world really is all the time… She woke from her reverie to flash Will a proud smile. "This place will finally have the smithy it deserves."

He seemed such a small boy today, she thought, touched by his modest smile. It felt almost perverse to walk over to him and kiss him.

"Elizabeth," he said. "I'd like to show you the upstairs."

A deep thud pounded on her chest.

"What?" She summoned up more than a fraction of aristocratic haughtiness, hoping it would block the thoughts that were coming to mind.

"I cleaned it out after Mr. Brown passed. Do you remember how it looked when you and your father first left me with him?" He moved to the back door and paused at the exterior steps leading up into the living quarters.

"I remember not being able to find the floor." She nodded, taking his hand and letting him escort her up the steps, less rickety than she remembered them being, too. "You spent your inheritance wisely."

Not answering her, Will pushed the door open, revealing a sparsely furnished main room with an adjoining kitchen.

"There's a bedroom on the other side of that door there," he said, pointing. "And I hauled up a few more chairs. It's a sturdy floor." He picked up a chair and slammed it back down into the wooden floor. "We could hold a town meeting up here and there'd be no risk of falling through."

"We?" Elizabeth held her breath.

"Yes," Will said, after several seconds. His eyes darted around the room before going back to her. "It's small, but if there ever came a need for more room…" They zeroed in on the floor. "There would be plenty of money saved to find a cottage or some such…Elizabeth." He ran over to her and clasped her hand, the door still flung open enough to hear the gulls squawking down at the harbor. "Will you marry me?"

On impulse, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, repeating the name Elizabeth Turner over and over again in her head. Will and Elizabeth Turner. Her father would be taking the carriage over to the Turners' tonight. His hands cupped her jaw, allowing himself to taste just a morsel of her before he broke away, out of breath.

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes! Oh, Will!" She embraced him again. "You were planning this! What did my father say? Did you ask him?"

"Yes, yes, of course I asked him," he laughed, his response muffled by her hair over his mouth. "He's…overwhelmed, to say the least." Leaning in just a little more, he copied Elizabeth's excited expression. "So am I."

* * *

294 Days Before

"Miss Elizabeth?" Rhoda clamored through the main floor of the house, swishing through every sitting and drawing room until she found Elizabeth curled up in one of the high-backed chairs with a book. Trying to restrain her scorn for the pirate book, tattered with age and love, Rhoda coughed out the name again.

"Oh! Yes, Rhoda?"

"Miss, since you're engaged and all…" She wrung her wrinkled hands. "I was about to get started on the dinner and thought it'd be prudent for you to, to…"

"Cook?"

"If it's not being too forward, miss. See, it's just some simple pea soup, enough for supper later, and it'd be something easy to get you started is all…"

"I'll be right there." Rhoda breathed a sigh, never knowing just what was too bold for the young lady of the house to hear. Carrying herself like a queen, Elizabeth approached her and lifted an eyebrow, signifying she was ready to hand over the reins, Rhoda noted, ready to listen to someone else. They tarried to the back of the house towards the half-opened kitchen, passing Estrella on the way.

"Where're you going with the young miss?"

"The young miss is going to learn how to make and serve her husband pea soup."

Estrella double-backed and followed them into the kitchen, pulling out one of the chairs before rising and hustling out to the yard.

"Perkins! Perkins, get in here! Miss Elizabeth's in the kitchen."

Perkins strolled in, a smug look of disbelief on his face until he saw Elizabeth tying an apron on over her dress.

"Miss Elizabeth, don't let these two bully you into doing their work for them…"

"It's nothing of the kind, Perkins." She glanced over at Rhoda. "What's first?"

"First, we put the peas in the water." She tapped a large pot of water and began collecting handfuls of the peas and dumping them in. Elizabeth gathered them up and placed them into the pot, exercising a bit more care than Rhoda. "They all in?"

"I say, what's all this?" Fisher passed through, his limp a little less noticeable now.

"I'm cooking, Fisher. You can stay and watch with the others if you're as convinced as they are that I'll ruin it." Elizabeth shot a severe glare at Estrella and Perkins.

"It ain't like that at all, miss," Perkins said first. "We're here to mark the occasion. We want to see what Mr. Turner's going to have to endure." He grinned encouragement at her.

"Now put the pot on the fire, miss. Slowly now. It gets heavy with all that water…" Rhoda pursed her lips together seeing Elizabeth set the pot down without so much as a heave. "Reckon those swords are just as heavy?"

"What's next?"

"Next you add the spices and wait for the boil. You'll find a lot of cooking is just waiting. Now, I need the sage, the garlic, the thyme…"

"Are you going to add potatoes? Your father likes it when Rhoda adds potatoes to the soup, miss."

"And onions! One can't have a decent pea soup without onions," Fisher added, stooping down to Estrella and Perkins to watch.

"Can all those be added while the peas are in the pot?" Elizabeth asked Rhoda, not sure if she could trust anyone else in the room.

"Oh sure thing, miss, as long as you're quick about it. Skim off any of that foam that comes up. That's it. Here. I'll mince the potatoes and you chop the onions for me."

"Now you're just being cruel," Estrella giggled from behind them.

"Hush up, Estrella," Rhoda said. "It's harder to peel potatoes just right. Onions are easy."

"But…"

"Onions are easy, Estrella," Perkins repeated to her.

"Small pieces now, miss."

Elizabeth took the small knife and stripped away a layer of onion. Twitching her nose at the smell, she laid the wavy layer onto the cutting board and began to chop, sniffling for some unknown reason. Raising an eyebrow, she turned her head slightly to watch how Rhoda peeled the potatoes. It didn't look much harder than chopping onions. Blinking back a few tears, Elizabeth stripped another layer. Tears? With her shoulder, she brushed them off her cheek. Just when she felt her eyes drying, they filled up again.

"Is this because of the onions?" she whispered to Rhoda.

"They neglected to tell you that fact, miss," Estrella snapped, rolling her eyes at the others. "Onions almost always make your eyes water. Ain't your fault, nor the onions. You're doing a fine job." She elbowed Fisher.

"Yes, miss. You really are."

"I don't need to be patronized," Elizabeth said.

"I'm being sincere, Miss Elizabeth. I'm sure it will be delicious."

"That will do, Fisher," she said, continuing the grueling step of the recipe.

* * *

"Now your father has his soup bowl, miss," Rhoda said, peeking into the dining room. "Just carry the soup out there and ladle some right into his bowl." She shook her head in awe at just how strong the young miss was, carrying the large, filled bowl as if it were nothing. "Have Mr. Turner stop by here once in a while with those swords and teach me a thing or two about fighting. You're putting me to shame."

Laughing through the door, Elizabeth set the bowl on the table and picked up her father's bowl.

"How was the lesson?" he asked.

"More than satisfactory," she said, taking the ladle and pouring him some soup. "Rhoda has quite the gift, Father. I'd like to reward her."

"Of course."

"Could she sit and join us for dinner? Estrella too?" She served herself some soup and then reached for two more bowls, being sure to have the ladle at the ready. "They were such wonderful instructors."

"I don't see why not. Who will serve us, though?" He brought the spoon to his lips before hesitating, waiting for the new additions to the table to take their seats.

"I don't have a problem with Fisher and Perkins doing it," Elizabeth said casually, smirking at Estrella. "All it is, is serving soup. Do either of you care?"

"Er, no. No." Still stunned at the offer, Estrella and Rhoda looked over at Governor Swann for permission. Elizabeth took her seat and took a dainty sip from her spoon. The thick, warm taste danced down her throat. Fisher and Perkins entered, sulking, and poured them their tea.

"I have to hand it to you, Elizabeth," her father said, dabbing his chin with his napkin. "It tastes just like Rhoda's."

"Thank you, Father," she said in an exaggerated tone, smiling up at Perkins as he took her long-stemmed glass. "I'm sure she'll agree with me that the best-tasting meals are the ones you make for yourself, am I right?"

"More right than you know, miss." Rhoda smiled shyly up at the men, her servants for the evening. "You are welcome to come to the kitchen any time and cook with me."

"I'd be delighted."

* * *

Settling into the upstairs library in only her nightshift and slippers, Elizabeth opened her book; the yellowed pages appeared to glow beneath the soft lamplight. Father insisted on almost a year-long engagement. Just as well, considering most of the items would need to be imported, but it rankled Elizabeth to no end, pent up in this house waiting. Had it always been so small? No. No, when they'd first arrived, it sat empty and cavernous, a treasure trove for her to explore and purposely get lost in, immersing herself in it. It was warm, well cared for, a welcomed place for a close friend or a stranger to sit and rest. At least it had been.

Tonight it felt like a jail, the shutters on the windows more like prison bars blocking her from seeing the night sky. Absorbing the words from her book, she read the familiar story of Captain Kidd and his buried treasure. How silly, burying treasure. Found treasure was meant to be either saved or spent, just like any other income. An image of Jack seeking a buried chest but trying to find the precise spot came to her mind.

"Something funny in your book there?"

"Father." She clasped the book shut. "I was just thinking. Did you need to work in here?"

"No, no, I was looking for you." Without a wig, in his own long nightshirt, it relaxed her posture and face. The man behind the mask, she wished she could say out loud without confusing him. "I wanted to speak to you earlier…"

"Is it about the wedding?" she sighed. "I told you I understood and it was fine. A year will only make Will more comfortable. He can save more money that way."

"It's about the _Black Pearl_."

The color ran from Elizabeth's face, picturing the glorious ship sunk, blasted into a million pieces, claimed by the East India Trading Company, Jack...

"It was sighted the other day, heading north from Colonia de Sacramento…there is no possible way for it to have been near Virginia, as we'd all assumed." He gave her a knowing glance.

"I'm not sorry."

"Sorry? Why should you be sorry? I assumed you would be furious that he'd lied to you."

Bewildered for a split second, she breathed and gave out a small laugh. She gave another one to ease his glower.

"I'm afraid I'm the one who lied, Father." She crossed her legs and draped her elbows over the arms of the chair. "Jack was actually here when I told you about Virginia."

"I see," he said through his teeth.

"It was only for a few minutes. James had all his ships positioned in just the right places. There had to be a way for him to leave the Caribbean in peace…"

"When is this going to stop?" He stood, half-turning before facing her again. "Isn't it enough you helped him once? Isn't it enough he's put both yours and Will's reputation on the line, as well as mine? Good God." She shuddered at what was, from her father's lips, a foul profanity.

"I thought we were both agreed we didn't want to see him hanged."

"Don't take that tone with me," he scolded, causing her to flinch. "The mere fact he spoke to you after what all you went through is scandalous enough, but, my dear, he's a pirate! And all that goes along with it."

"He's a good man."

Her eyes hardening, she watched him pace until he sat back down, not sure if her words proved a checkmate or a stalemate.

"I know."

"You know?" she scoffed. "Then leave him be."

"I only mean you don't have to prove it to me. Do you have any idea what it's like to know you owe someone like that your daughter's life?" He turned his head and burned a hole into the shutters with his eyes. "I was completely honest with you when I said I didn't wish him to hang. He saved my little girl." He faced her, the warmth and devotion in his eyes the equivalent of capturing her queen. "Whatever goodness is in him, I saw it that day. But prove this to me: prove that he doesn't regret that decision, a decision that cost him everything. Jack Sparrow's not a simpleton, Elizabeth. He knows it was just luck that got him out of going to the gallows the very next day, or being shot to death while he was trying to escape."

"I would hardly call it luck," she said, ready to defend Jack and Will both.

"Luck is nothing but a series of events that are objectively fortunate to a particular person," her father said flatly. "It was luck. He may be a good man, but can you look at me and honestly tell me he doesn't regret that? Is it something he's proud of, or even merely accepts?"

She swallowed, unable to answer.

"Those people are dangerous to help, Elizabeth, and it's even more dangerous to rely on them. Please, please, promise me." He stood and held her hand. "Promise me this will be the last time you'll associate with him."

"The opportunity will never…" she started.

"No matter what the circumstances."

"I can't promise you that," she whispered, gazing up at him, surprised at the quickness of her own words. Just like that. She felt a surge of gratitude she was seated. Her heat lurched at her father's resigned but…dare she name it proud…expression?

"Promise me you will use caution then."

"That can be easily promised." She stood and kissed him on the cheek. "There is no other way for any rational person to deal with Jack than extreme caution. Goodnight, Father."

Her chest heaved on the way out the door and into the hall, her feet taking memorized steps to her bedroom. Discovering them on a desert isle together, albeit clothed and not speaking to each other at the time, warranted no fatherly advice. Neither had braving muskets and swords to make it clear to everyone where her loyalties lied. Nothing. Why now? She turned down the covers of her bed with a knitted forehead, cursing herself for leaving her book in the library, determined not to go back in and retrieve it.

Silly girl, you're engaged now is why, she told herself, sliding out of her slippers and sitting on the canopied bed. A back alley rendezvous with anyone is to be a thing of the past. It was charming that he was protecting Will.

Are you going to pretend to be naïve all night, she asked herself, her mouth gaping at her own gullibility. He's protecting the Swann name. The fewer pirate encounters in the future, the better. She nodded. That was it. He was still worried about what the king and all the men at court would make of this summer. She allowed herself a soft giggle, not knowing herself what to make of it at times. Lying down, she pulled the blankets up to her shoulder and closed her eyes. They would all have to be not only daft and corrupt, but also blind to her father's accomplishments here these last eight years, to even think of replacing his authority.

* * *

**A/N: While the donkey's name is Sprinkles in my parodies, that just wouldn't do here. Sampson was a bulldog my grandparents had for several years that died when I was nine, the most mild-mannered, gentlest dog ever, which is sort of how I envisioned the donkey's personality. I debated if the large windows in the Pearl's cabin ought to be called portholes, so if I'm wrong and there is no such thing as a "window" on a ship, please correct me. I also have no idea about the architecture or layout of the blacksmith shop in the movies, but it would seem (and would be historically accurate) for there to be an upstairs to serve as living quarters, especially if Mr. Brown didn't have a large family. I didn't give him one, doesn't deserve it, poor bugger, may he rest in peace. **

**I don't read any willabeth fics, so if there is some kind of fanon as to how they officially got engaged or whatever, I'm not aware of it, but I would appreciate you telling me if I do them justice or not. I get a bit nervous writing them together because I don't like them together. There is no symbolic/significant reason why I picked pea soup as the dish. It was one of the items on the Colonial Cooking website and I just went with it; plus a lot of the recipes on there were desserts. Don't read too much into it...or do, up to you. I was damned if I do/damned if I don't when it came to if Elizabeth was going to be a good cook or not. On the one hand, she's good at most things so if she was good at cooking too I was going to feel like I was making her a Mary Sue and if she was bad, it's almost clichéd now to make strong, tomboy-ish characters like her bad cooks, so I decided she would be mediocre. Well, this is quite the long author's note. There won't be as much to cite in the next chapter.**


	9. Chapter 9

289 Days Before

"Comin' up to the old stomping grounds," Gibbs said, heralding their entrance back into the Caribbean. "Northeast from here?"

"North and then east, mate."

"That means comin' across more ships, Jack."

"Also means more chances at sacking some of those said ships before crossing the Atlantic." He tossed him his spyglass and lumbered over to the nets, catching whiff of the caught fish, writhing as desperately as their bait had on their hooks. One of the men threw a rusty knife to him, the blade dulled from use, but still good. Twitching his nose, he stuck a hand into the net and pulled out the slippery foot-long grouper.

Gutting it, he heard some of the innards slosh to the deck, but his eyes remained glued to horizon, specifically the clean-looking, seemingly empty water.

"Care for a drink while you're preppin' supper, Captain?" one of them asked.

"Not at present," he said, tossing the fish into the pot for the cook. He used to do this sort of thing all the time, working in a kitchen at a fort in Singapore, making meals for all those Navy men who would tell stories Jack had been too young to fully understand, more concerned with earning his income to take some of the burden off of his mother. Wringing chickens' necks and cutting up eels had eventually become as easy as pulling cakes out of the oven, save for the one eel that had enough fight left to slither up and bite him… The sailors had laughed at the scream-and-curse from the kitchen boy, jesting that he'd shown up to work drunk.

_It is a foul drink that turns even the most respectable men into scoundrels._

Oh, shut it, he thought, gutting the second fish faster and with more flourish, showing off his regained muscle memory. It is a most fine drink, just not at the moment. He turned his head back out to sea.

_Keep a weather eye open and you will see white sails on that horizon._

Bugger. Jack forced himself to look down at the third fish this time, able to gut it in one elongated motion. Thinking about her at night served a purpose—no tentacles or ships of death could be found so long as Lizzie Swann walked up and down that beach every night in his mind, wind-blown and sun-kissed. But now creeping up during the day? He turned his head back out towards the sea and did a double-take.

Indeed there were white sails on the horizon. Close. Hazardously close.

Letting the fish and the knife drop, he sprinted up the steps to where Gibbs had the helm and yanked the spyglass from him.

"Could have asked for it! No need to get all excited…"

"Says you." He closed an eye and peered into the spyglass.

"How's that?" Gibbs asked.

"That's the Commodore himself, coming up port side." He leaned down towards the deck, his hair falling in front of him. "Hard to port!"

"Jack! He'll run right into us if we do that."

"Right into the guns."

He gave the order for half the crew to ready the guns below decks, an itching hand on his pistol. The _Dauntless _sped closer, her sweeps at the ready. Just as everything on the deck shifted with deafening creaks, Jack inhaled.

"Fire!"

The delaying of return fire from the _Dauntless _elicited a guarded smile on Jack's face. Surprise, Jamie-lad. Ol' Jack can put up a fight with the best of ye.

The _Pearl _rollicked against the waves, reeling closer to the _Dauntless_, so close Jack could swing across onto the deck. Without having to give the order, a few of the men went on ahead, cutlass blades lodged in their mouths to free both hands. They disappeared into the smoke-covered deck, sounds of battle welcoming them. Descending the steps and scouting for a rope, an empty one lopped right onto his shoulder.

"Oh!" he said after glancing to his left and his right. Gripping it, he swung onto the opposing ship, sword ready. Just when his feet felt the edge of the rail, a deep scorching pain sliced right into both his knees. They buckled at the pressure, causing Jack to tumble down onto the deck. His hand spread and prodded the skin underneath the fresh slits in his trousers. Hot metallic blood drizzled onto his fingers. A flash of silver caught his eye just in time for him to grab his sword and block the blade coming from above him. He scampered to his feet at the sight of Norrington, sword in hand and as hawk-like as ever.

"You bloody cut me!" Jack blocked another advance.

"I'd savor that humanity if I were you, Sparrow. You don't have much left."

In spite of his knees burning, he held a decent parry, but it was more defensive than offensive. He swore at himself with every backward step. Norrington leapt onto the railing, one hand on the rigging, the high ground his. Jack thrust his sword harder, ready jab his blade right into his knees to see how the persistent scut liked it. Hobbling down the deck to keep up with him, he shook his head at himself. Ye need a plan, mate, need a plan.

Leaping back to the center of the deck, he grinned at Norrington bounding down from the railing and following him. One swift motion now, he warned himself. Drawing out his pistol, he shut one eye and fired right at the cross-guard of Norrington's sword. It clanged to the deck just as Jack whistled over at Gibbs.

Gibbs dispatched his own opponent and ran at Norrington, climbing all over him until he had him in a hold. Jack was ready with his pistol, taking a few steps forward, one hand on one of his knees, pointing it right into the Commodore's face.

"What say you to calling your men off?"

"I don't surrender to pirates."

"Fine. I'll do it, lazy bump-on-a-log." He rolled his eyes and cleared his throat just loud enough for the soldiers around him to hear him. "If I could have everyone's attention? Swords and pistols to the deck or I'll fire." From the corner of his eye, he could see the chain reaction beginning—the men closest to him laying down their weapons, the ones closest to them laying down theirs and so on until it was very much indeed a surrender.

"Wind in the sails! Wind in the sails!" he heard from Cotton's parrot, flying past him over to his companion.

"Mr. Cotton, I believe your bird is suggesting we find some rope."

* * *

The _Dauntless _was his. Even thinking it a second time failed to make it more real. The _Dauntless_, the ship that claimed more pirates' lives than scurvy, syphilis, and sharks combined was now his. Her crew locked in her own brig, he kept pacing around Norrington, tied to the mast. Seldom did the mere presence of a person present such a problem. You should kill him and you have every right to, self-defense and all that. Yes, but… He frowned at being unable to voice the argument that was so loud in his mind. Just kill him, he told himself again. It was the utter lack of killing that lost you the _Pearl _in the first place, too nice. But… He inhaled, knowing he at least couldn't look like the death of James Norrington felt downright distasteful.

"You aren't going to kill me?"

"Jamie-lad, it ain't worth the trouble," Jack snorted at him. "Ye have nothing I want."

"I did," he countered.

How did…when… Jack circled around him more, pretending to be deciding what to do with him while his thoughts played out for him. Had the Commodore of all people seen something? There wasn't a moment Jack could place where he had looked at Lizzie longer than he should have, more longingly than he should have. There hadn't even been any reason to, not then, had there?

_You're a smart man, Jack._

God, he loved that every time he replayed it in his mind just as much as when the words had poured out of those sensual lips the first time.

_But I don't entirely trust you._

Didn't love that one so much, but he was used to hearing things such as that. Something told him he could make her trust him, could make her trust him entirely, and it would all start with those lips, no, those eyebrows raised in inquiry, no, those hands that nervously scribbled nonsense into the railing of the ship.

_Peas in a pod, darling._

_With me, Sparrow._

Bugger. Norrington had seen such a moment. And he couldn't be talking about anything else. Well, everyone is entitled one moment of vulnerability, however fleeting. The Commodore certainly had been allotted his one, so much so Jack had no problem envisioning her ripping out the man's heart.

_So this is where your heart truly lies then?_

_It is._

Jack smirked.

"As I recall, mate." He leaned down to him. "Ye never had it to begin with." Straightening, he flared out to his crew. "Gentlemen, what fate would ye propose befall the great Commodore?"

"Flog him!"

"Towing!"

"Not one creative mind among ye, eh? All borrowing from the great yet sadistic thinkers who brought us such turpitude?" Blank faces answered him. Jack sighed. "Anyone know what the Romans would do when they captured such prominent prisoners? They'd parade them in the streets. Gentlemen, I propose we take the Commodore to the most pirate-y streets we know of."

"Tortuga?" Gibbs asked, his eyebrows rising in hope.

"Tortuga."

* * *

**A/N: Not trying to borrow from Rifftrax too much, but I really don't know what sweeps are. All I know is that Barbossa orders them during the _Pearl _vs_. Dauntless _scene and the _Pearl _ends up winning, so they must be a formidable threat. A scut is "a stubby, erect tail," according to The Free Dictionary website…no wonder it's an item on the Shakespearean Insult Kit list. Towing is a version of keelhauling, where the victim is tied to a line and dragged behind the ship, not as fatal as keelhauling, so pirates would tow for days and the poor bugger usually died of exposure and/or exhaustion, like waterskiing to death. I will post Jack's route later. Short chapter, and for the record, this chapter takes place on June 26. I'll post the exact day every once in a while if you want.**


	10. Chapter 10

282 Days Before

Elizabeth spread her arms out, standing on the stool in front of three floor-length mirrors while the seamstress rolled out a bit more of the measuring tape to measure her inseam.

"So thin," she grunted to herself, on her knees, a few pins still protruding from her mouth.

"What?"

"Oh." She spat out the pins, forcing Elizabeth to glance over at her father and match his disgusted expression. "You're so thin, miss. It'd do you good to put on a few and be measured again."

"I find my daughter to be exquisite just the way she is," Governor Swann said from his chair, pressing down on his decorative walking stick, letting it clunk to the hard floor for effect.

"It ain't a question of beauty, sir," the seamstress grunted again, heaving herself back up to write down the measurements. "Once we get started, my girls'll probably think there's been some mistake and it's some half-starved fishmonger's wench gettin' married and not someone of, well, someone of your caliber." She waddled around the stool until she stood behind Elizabeth and measured the length of her arms. "Never seen such a lanky thing."

"It's fortunate all your clients have been so well-fed," Elizabeth said, apparently snarky enough for her father to clear his throat at her. "Could I take a sample of the fabric with me when we leave? To show my fiancé?"

"Miss, that might as well be showin' him the gown itself, bad luck you know."

"My maid then?" She rolled her eyes while the seamstress paused to write down the measurement.

"Of course, miss, of course. You can hop off of there now."

Elizabeth leapt off the stool and followed the seamstress to the piles of material and patterns strewn about the shop. Once again on her knees, the frizzy blonde hair of the seamstress was all Elizabeth could see.

"Ah ha! Here we are," she said, breathless, extending her arm out for Elizabeth to take the sample. "That's what the sides and back of the skirt'll feel like. Have ye given any thought as to how you'll wear your hair?" The tall, buxom woman ran her bony fingers through Elizabeth's hair.

"No, not yet."

"When ye do, let me know. It can make quite the difference when it comes to veils. Know if ye want one goes all the way to the ground?" She stood with her hands on her hips, making it all too clear Elizabeth was far from her first bride.

"Ground," Elizabeth muttered, digging her shoe into the floor. Selecting the cut and style of the gown had been easy, fun, even. Selecting the ivory color hadn't taken long, and even standing still for so long while all the measurements were taken had been tolerable, but with the clock chiming the last chimes of eleven o'clock, the smell of fresh straw and the clashing of swords called her away.

"I got something in the back I'd like ye to try on…if ye don't mind." She cocked her head to make sure they maintained eye contact. "I won't be makin' a dress like this and then being told it don't match with any veils."

"Why are you tormenting her?" Governor Swann hissed as soon as the seamstress hustled to the back of the shop and out of earshot.

"I'm not."

"You are. You're making it painfully obvious you're not listening to a word she's saying. It's been a long day for her, too."

"But she's the one getting paid."

"But you're the one getting married," her father snapped, so much so it crinkled Elizabeth's eyebrows. She held her hands behind her back until the seamstress returned.

"I'm going to touch your hair again if ye don't mind, miss. See this one's headpiece here?" She gathered up the sides of Elizabeth's hair and twisted them together into a bun on the top of her head. "I can tell you're a woman who likes to save time, gets to business. Whoever ye have help ye with your hair…just get them sides up like this and let a wave or two curl down…and the headpiece goes over the bun like so." Elizabeth could feel the heavy piece holding the bun together, drawing back her neck to balance it as the seamstress smoothed the tulle veil flowing down from it. "There ye go, down to the ground. Look in the mirror now and let me know if ye like it."

There were few times when Elizabeth paused to lavish in her own reflection, but now, her mouth agape, she couldn't help but inspect every angle of this woman more apt to be found unabashedly nude in a Botticelli painting rather than in this dusty town on the edge of civilization.

"It frames your face so well, my dear," her father whispered.

"Yes. I like this." She registered the vapidity of her response, but it didn't matter. This was now a woman to be married instead of a girl still in the dark about so much.

"I'll have it boxed up and then ye can take it with ye and the sample when ye leave here then," the seamstress said, removing the veil and folding it up over her arm.

* * *

Arm in arm with her father, she smiled over him at the box he carried containing her veil. Images of Will smitten as she walked down the aisle were interrupted by shouting in the square. Without even having to motion to her father, they hurried over to the square where a crowd called out ever-increasing numbers.

"Sold!"

Elizabeth bit her lip at what she just witnessed—a young boy, not yet fifteen by the look of him, dragged off the platform by a complete stranger, his new master.

"Barbaric." Her father shook his head. "Come."

"Next up, young male, thirties, strong, virile, all the way from India." The auctioneer patted the back of the spindly, narrow-featured man, his facial hair blending into his skin. A violet turban concealed most of his hair. "Come up! Come up. Look him over. Thin as a rail, but twice as strong."

A few men climbed up the platform and poked the shackled man, one audacious enough to stand on his tiptoes and pry open his mouth.

"He wears a pirate brand!" one of the men shouted, holding up the man's wrist.

"Knows his way around the Caribbean, he does!" the auctioneer recovered after a split second.

"Knows his way around a pistol, you mean," someone in the crowd yelled back.

"Why would a pirate be here and not executed?" she whispered to her father, eyes never leaving the vulgar sight. He shrugged, leaving Elizabeth's shoulders to slump. James would have known why, she thought. Breaking away from her father, she squeezed into the crowd where a red-coated soldier stood guard. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, yes, miss?" He flashed her a courteous, detached smile.

"Why is such a man here and not at the jail?"

"The pirate that's up there? It's rare, but not unheard of, usually means he surrendered willingly, didn't put up a fight. Depending on who captured him, one might see more profit in selling him than making him stand trial and all that nasty business." He glanced over at the man. "Probably wasn't this instance that earned him the brand, miss. Poor bugger probably had it before."

"Elizabeth! Whatever are you doing in here?" She jumped at her father tugging on her arm.

"Father, let's save him. We can set him free before he even sets foot in the house…"

"And have the whole town believe we condone this nonsense? I've been trying to lead them by example…"

"We could come back. Look. No one's buying him. He'll just be in that pen all night until the ship pulls out. We could come back and do it in secret. No one would see!" She wrenched her hand free and turned back to see them lead the turbaned man back down and behind the platform. Her heart sank further with every step he took. "Please, Father?"

"For God's sake, Elizabeth, the man's not a puppy. Come along. As a pirate, he might be fortunate having this as his fate compared to what could have happened to him."

"We could free him!" she said again, her own feet betraying her, taking her further out of the square.

"Elizabeth…" He trailed off, and for a moment, she knew his faraway eyes were contemplating her pleas. "I won't even entertain the temptation of buying one."

* * *

The humid night clung to her skin. The lightness of men's shoes forcing her to focus more of her attention on walking than normal. The cuffs of the baggy coat encompassed her fingers, so heavy it made her hunch forward. She reminded herself to reward Perkins with a day off and some extra spending money for donating his clothes…temporarily. She smirked, pulling the rim of the hat further down her face. A few insects chirping in the distance seemed to say, "Imposter, imposter" in response to her footsteps.

"Excuse me," she snorted, adding a gruffness to her confident voice. The auctioneer turned around from the empty pen in the square and smiled.

"Fine, fine evening," he coughed. "Sorry. All that talking during the day tends to render me hoarse. What can I do you for, boy?"

"There was a slave earlier today, the pirate. My man requests to make a private offer." She held up the small leather sack of coins, just out of his reach.

"They're holding him at the jail until we press on. Can't be too careful. You just go back and tell your man he's asking for trouble taking on a pirate."

"It's not my place, sir," she said, shoving the sack into her pockets. "Is he for sell or isn't he?"

"Aye, he is! Let's just see what you're putting out there."

Elizabeth unstrung the sack in his pocket and pulled out only a few gold coins.

"That's a bit piddling, don't you think?" the auctioneer chuckled.

"That's no way to bargain," Elizabeth said. "I would have thought since no one wanted him, you'd be willing to accept any price."

"This your first time negotiating price, boy?" He waited for Elizabeth to nod. "First rule: always make your first offer a little juicy. Make it look like you're giving something up."

"Fine." Elizabeth doubled the amount.

"Now we're talking." He traced the coins, not picking any of them out of her palm. "Let's walk over to the jail and discuss this further, shall we?"

* * *

The man sat in the cell, even after it had been unlocked and the auctioneer had run off with half of what had been in Elizabeth's sack. His long, bony fingers interlocked, he stared across the way at the opposite stone wall.

"Would you like to be free?" she asked, whispering it in her normal voice. This caught the man's attention. His head snapped in her direction with the deliberateness of a cobra.

"Come into the light, small one. I wish to know if you are a boy or a girl."

Elizabeth clasped the bars and pushed her hat up only so he could see her face. His eyes widened.

"My name is Elizabeth Swann. I'd like to know yours."

"Dhananjay."

"You haven't answered my question."

He towered over her, sending her scrambling backwards away from the cell. He maintained a kingly stance, feet shoulder-length apart, arms crossed in front of him, waiting for her to speak.

"I bought you for the sole purpose of freeing you," she said, summoning up more courage. He's not exactly your first pirate, she reminded herself, annoyance replacing fear at his reticence.

"You must hate the king."

"I just hate to see anyone locked away," she said.

"And what is the remainder of your plan?"

"Tortuga is the nearest port. You could commandeer a ship, a small one so you could man it yourself, and then…" Her cheeks reddened, appalled the words were coming out of her mouth. "…the entire ocean. The entire world. Wherever you want to go, you can go. Freedom." She blushed at the memory of what came next, his insipid line about the company being "infinitely" better than last time, but she concentrated back on the serious face of Dhananjay in front of her.

"You make an enticing offer, Elizabeth Swann."

"Does that mean you'll take it?

"It would be enticing if I could sail."

"What?" She could feel the color draining from her face. "How does a pirate not know how to sail? Even I know how to sail!" Her hands tensed, her fingers curling into talons ready to claw out his eyes.

"The captains never had me sail. I was always the one with the weapons."

"What?" she said again.

Dhananjay sighed. "I was kept because I can shoot. I was one of the ones who would swing across and cut all their throats. You know." He mimed a throat slitting. "It is a talent. I was so good…they never trusted me to man the ship." He stepped out of the cell and gave a formal bow to her.

"This way. We have to hurry." She skittered down the corridor of the jail to the back exit.

"Do you do this often?"

"Let's just say I know my way around here." Under the cover of darkness, she looked up at the posted men, looking outward towards the harbor and sea than underneath them. Holding her breath, she darted down through the grass, avoiding the stone path. They wobbled, the uneven ground threatening to turn their ankles at every step, but made it down to the main street, just behind the first set of shops.

"That way," she whispered, fighting for breath. Still behind the shops, she recognized the narrow smithy and clamored up the back steps. Just on the other side of the door was Will and her future as Mrs. Turner, and already both would need to come to her rescue. She pounded on the door. "Will? Will?"

"Elizabeth?" he yawned, straightening immediately at Dhananjay looming over the two of them. "What's going on?"

"We need a place for Dhananjay to stay for a few hours." She edged past Will and led Dhananjay into the living quarters.

"Elizabeth, what is going on? Who is this? Why are you dressed that way?" He grabbed her hand and pulled her to the other end.

"He's a pirate and was going to be sold as a slave and…I just couldn't let that happen, Will." She gave him an apologetic grin. "Now, he can't sail, so…"

"What? He can't sail? Are you sure he's telling you the truth?"

"He does have a pirate brand."

"Don't you think we've done more than our share as far as goodwill towards pirates goes?" he asked with gritted teeth, watching Dhananjay over her shoulder. "Besides, the nearest port is Tortuga. That's at least half a day's journey from here even if he could sail, which he can't."

"No, but you and I can." Her heart raced and her ears burned at seeing Will's incensed face. "We would leave first thing in the morning. I can run home and tell Estrella to tell Father some story…we would be back here by nightfall." His expression didn't change. Biting her lip again, she fought for a way to win him over, distraction with the details seeming the best course. "Jack did teach you how to sail, didn't he? You seemed to be fairly comfortable around a ship when we were on the _Interceptor_."

"That's not the point!" He threw up his hands, pacing around in a circle before taking her hands. "I'd do anything for you, really, but that doesn't give you the right to demand it out of me."

"He was going to be a slave, Will," she murmured, something in her warning her from yelling back at him. "Surely you have an idea of what that's like. Mr. Brown certainly treated you like one. And here we both are, about to have everything we wanted…because we're free to do so…" The sigh exiting out of him sounded like one of resignation, but Elizabeth surprised herself at how similar it sounded to music at this point.

"And you have a plan for acquiring a ship?"

"Actually, I fancied you were the more experienced one when it came to commandeering ships…"

* * *

281 Days Before

Spending the night at Martha's house, Elizabeth shook her head, helping the wind toss her hair. Father believed it and Estrella swore she could keep up the ruse all day, but after one look at the sun ascending from the waves, silhouetting the whole ocean save for its own reflection shimmering in pieces in the water, broken up so perfectly it was like a trail of stardust… She was scarcely aware of how heavy the helm of the schooner felt in her hands.

"…like this," she heard for the hundredth time, peering down to catch sight of Will still teaching Dhananjay the fundamentals. She giggled, recalling herself in that position a few years ago, all but seducing James into taking her out onto the _Dauntless _and showing her how to sail, starting from releasing the mooring lines at thirteen all the way to simple fighting strategies at twenty. This must have been the view Jack held teaching Will, she thought, imagining Will scrambling all over the deck from one task to another. It had occurred to her that they might run into a familiar face at Tortuga, Jack celebrating whatever gains his newly won freedom allowed him to have. What a surprise it would be, those black eyes widening in realization and then feigning disinterest. It didn't take long to notice that. She owed them her life in a way. It had all been black, so black, and then a jolt, her lungs almost overwhelmed with air. The sense of taste and smell returned to her first, coughing out the salty water; then touch, sensing some of it dribble down her chin, some of it clinging to her eyelashes. They batted at it, sight returning and fastening, locking, onto those eyes for dear life. She didn't know who he was even when he spoke, giving her back her sense of hearing. Made whole again in the span of seconds paralyzed her at the same time she felt like she'd been launched into the air, at last ready to fly.

She experienced that same paradox now, knowing it would be another hour before they would hear glass-crunching, pistol-shooting, hornpipe-blasting Tortuga. It would take at least an hour to decide if she was more terrified of running into Jack or missing him altogether.

* * *

"I cannot thank you enough," Dhananjay said to both of them, his long coat and shifty eyes blending into the debauchery around them. "There's no way to repay you."

No, there isn't, she could see on Will's face, but he summoned a smile and shook his hand.

"Best of luck to you," he said, pulling the handshake closer. "Miss Swann gave you your freedom. If I were you, I would make sure it wasn't squandered."

"I'd like a word with him alone, Will, if you don't mind." He nodded, his demeanor still cold towards her, but better than it was. He walked off and stood on the edge of the pier, their ship tied off and lulled by the current. Turning back to Dhananjay, she took the folded slip of paper out of her coat pocket. "I have a favor to ask."

"Oh dear…" he drew out.

"Take this." Her face grew hot, still not satisfied with her rehearsed request. "If you should ever see Captain Jack Sparrow…"

"Captain? You are being generous. He does not have a ship."

"Oh, but he does. The _Black Pearl_," Elizabeth began, but clamped her mouth shut at his astonishment.

"The _Black Pearl_? If I find him and do you this favor, you are saying I have a chance to sail on the _Black Pearl_?" He stumbled backwards, a hand over his heart.

"You know of her?" It gave her a fleeting sense of pride for some reason. "She's a gorgeous ship."

"Ah, but Jack Sparrow does not care for what is merely gorgeous." Dhananjay waved a finger at her. "There is more to that ship, much, much more. What is this that you need to give him?" He unfolded it and skimmed the contents.

"That's a report of his arrest and trial. You can see down there the date they scheduled him to be killed. I thought he might like it." She shrugged. "Consider it a trophy. But it's only if you ever meet him. Don't put yourself out of the way for me." She shook her head at his opening mouth. "I'd much rather you find your happily ever after or whatever it is pirates hope to reach."

"Shiny things."

"Very well. Find as many shiny things as you can." She gave one last motherly look to him and then trotted down the pier to the ship. Meeting Will's unreadable face with one of her own, she climbed aboard and took her place at the helm.

* * *

**A/N: If anyone knows what kind of ship the _Pearl_ is, I'd really like to know. Going by looks alone on Rob Ossian's Pirate Cove website (I don't know you, Rob, but here's a shout-out!), I would guess it to be a frigate, but I have a really hard time identifying ships, planes, cars, etc. Cyber pat on the back to whoever can give me an answer! Also, something is weird with my Document Manager, so I had to copy and paste this and as a result, deleted my Chapter 9, so if there are more errors than usual or any weird spacings, please forgive me. Hopefully that situation will improve soon. Please leave a review!**


	11. Chapter 11

281 Days Before

Jack sat on an uneven barstool, next to Norrington, watching Cotton play cards with three disheveled men covered in soot and gunpowder. He studied the older man's face, no tongue rolling around on the other side of tightened lips, whiskers and wrinkles all around them. He kept his eyes on his cards, moving only to call or raise the current bet. Narrowing his eyebrows, Jack worked harder attempting to observe the man's tells.

None. He made a mental note to himself to never under any circumstances play cards with Cotton. Sighing, he tipped his barstool, the legs dancing to and fro in time with the music playing in the background.

"I say, this could be quite dicey, eh, Commodore? Might be apt to spill me rum on ye."

"Even you can't languish in Tortuga forever, Sparrow. Just what are your plans for me and my crew after this is all over?"

"It's a pirate's life! There is no 'over.' You'll be coming to the next port with us and the next and the next until you've swabbed the deck of me ship so many times you've memorized every grain," Jack said, taking a swig from his mug, being sure to smack his lips. "Ye didn't think I was keeping you around for fun, did ye?"

"There's no need to be so confident," Norrington said in so low a whisper Jack fought off chills. The glimmer in the man's eyes reminded him of the numbers that usually followed his name: twenty-seven pirate ships sunk, one hundred and forty-four pirates hanged, countless others dead from battles. "It was luck and no more that you captured me. It won't stay with you for much longer."

"That's still better than having no luck at all, though." Jack made sure his voice matched the hushed threats emanating out of Norrington's mouth. Pirate hunter or not, he would not be intimidated by this man, not when he had already led him through the Tortuga streets, the dirty occupants applauding and laughing at the brocaded, immaculate uniform.

"Care to put that to the test?" Norrington smirked. After a pause, he continued. "A duel. Outside. Pistol to pistol."

"You're willing to die to prove this point?"

"It would be better than being your deckhand, but if I were you, I would be thinking about what sounds better—a quick, honorable death at the hands of someone whose job it is to kill you…or a prolonged one?"

"That's implying you can escape," Jack said, quicker than he wanted.

"That doesn't matter if luck is with you and not with me, does it?"

Shoot him now and be done with it, Jack ordered himself, willing his hand to rake over his pistol. It would be well-deserved, nay, expected, as half the crew probably wondered why their captain hadn't already done it, including Jack himself.

"If you kill me, you could take my men out of your brig," Norrington said. "They'd be yours, as would the _Dauntless,_ but I insist they would not be harmed_._"

"Already mine."

"And if I kill you," Norrington interrupted with gritted teeth, "your men aren't captured. They're executed, starting with your first mate down to that monkey. The _Black Pearl _comes back to Port Royal with me, repainted and given English colors to serve as a military ship. No one would recognize her. All the legends about her would be just that, legends, as no one would think there had ever been a real ship."

"What do you want me to do, Jamie-lad, fight for my lady's honor?" Jack scoffed, fighting the boiling sensation in his stomach. "I ain't so much the type for that sort of codswallop, but you do drive a hard bargain, I'll give ye that. Mr. Cotton!"

Cotton leaned to the side from the table, an eyebrow cocked.

"Round up the parrot. We're in need of a witness with the gift of speech."

* * *

Helping Cotton restrain Norrington until they reached the open field separating the harbor from the first row of taverns, Jack's fingers shook to the point his rings rattled. Did I ever tell ye you're a bloody idiot, mate? Shut it. Aye, not since the Trojans falling for a wooden horse… Shut it, I said. The only scrap of hope to cling to was the fact Norrington seemed to rely more on his sword in battle than his pistol, possibly indicating he was not such a quick draw as all that. Still time to reverse his bluff, he thought, scare him out of it.

"What's the standard, fifteen paces, turn, and shoot?" he asked, releasing Norrington. He crept over to Cotton and tapped on Norrington's pistol. "What a pretty relic. I think me old da' had something like this…"

"Fifteen paces, turn, and shoot," Norrington said, unflinching, his back straighter than a girder.

"Ah, well, one last hurrah for the antique before it's put out to pasture."

"Your man is armed," Norrington said, gesturing at Cotton's pistol. Cotton placed his vest over it and snarled at him.

"That's in case you turn a fraction of a second before I do. Now." Jack held up his pistol. "Let us commence this asinine venture, shall we? Commodore…James…I was rooting for you." Extending a hand, he let it fall to his thigh at Norrington's refusal to shake it. "We start back to back, right?"

"Back to back. If your man could talk, he would say 'go,' and we would do our paces." A second passed. "Perhaps the parrot could say it?"

"Blow me down!" Cotton's parrot cawed.

One, two…you could roll down this little hill and hide in one of the ships down there, he thought, provided Norrington temporarily loses his sense of hearing. He glanced over at Cotton at the thirteenth step and then gulped. Idiot. Did I tell ye you were an idiot?

It was time to turn.

They snapped around at the same time, pistols drawn. A look of deep horror dominated Norrington's face. About to grin, Jack frowned at the fact it wasn't at him, but behind him. Fall for that old trick and ye really will be an idiot.

In an instant, Norrington took off running, right past Jack and down the hill towards the harbor.

"That was my idea," Jack mumbled.

"Wait! Elizabeth, wait!"

Snapping around again to face the harbor, Jack scanned it until he saw a small ship just casting off. Frozen, he tried to process Norrington's breathless shouts.

"Turner! Wait! You, there!"

A man standing on the pier where the ship just left broke into a run at the sight of a uniformed man darting straight for him.

Cotton approached Jack and tapped him, his arms up, asking silently to know what was happening. They peered out to the ship.

It was her, sporting trousers and a man's coat, but it was her, Lizzie Swann herself steering that ship out of Tortuga waters. They were too far away to hear anything, but not far enough to cause Jack to doubt his own eyes. She stood at that helm, knowing exactly what she was doing, and even though it left him staring right in the direction of the sun, he couldn't move, could barely breathe.

He caught his breath at the sensation of Cotton tugging on his arm, pointing down the hill. Down the hill, Norrington was shortening the distance between him and the tall, dark figure that had departed from the ship.

"Go back and find Mr. Gibbs," Jack finally said, one eye still out on the water. "Report back here, the two of you. I'll handle this." Ambling down the hill, he aimed his pistol and fired.

Norrington skidded to a stop, plopping to the ground and clutching his right heel. Relax, it ain't fatal, he wished he was close enough to say as Norrington pulled off his boot and fingered the blood dripping from his foot. The tall, dark running man turned back, close enough for Jack to see a turban, and then ran back up the hill and into town.

"What's happened?" he heard. Gibbs and Cotton ran down to him, the latter's parrot fluttering above them.

"Go back to the _Dauntless _and tell the men minding the ship to leave it. Ready the _Pearl _for casting off in the next hour," he said to Cotton's parrot before turning to Gibbs. "As for you, much to your delight, we will be making one last trip around the pubs, but not before we return the Commodore his keys."

"Why would we be returning his keys?" Gibbs asked, already starting the climb back up the hill, watching Jack fling them down to a few feet from where Norrington sat, still struggling to stand on his wounded foot.

"So he can let his men out of the brig."

"I still ain't following. It sounds like we're letting them go."

"Indeed, we are letting them go, abandoning them, leaving them here in this corrupt, dark place with all its dank-ish-ness. Think of it as marooning, Mr. Gibbs, only this is the proper upper-class gentleman's hell instead of a god-forsaken spit of land."

"Then why are we going back into town?"

"That's what I want to find out."

A small island, it took no time to spot the man, contrasting with the stockier, red-faced regulars. Outside, near a well full of vomit and forgotten coins, he stood, positioned to pickpocket a man's purse.

"Oy! Careful doing that, mate. That sot doesn't look like he has a shilling to his name," he yelled, making sure everyone could hear. The turbaned man, sharp-featured, glared at him. Jack edged over to him, Gibbs following. "I do hope the Commodore didn't dirty you up much." He dusted off the man's coat. "I would say he's more fun once you get to know him, but that would taste a lie. Might we go inside so you can partake in some of Tortuga's affability?"

"You are offering me a drink?"

"Aye. Drinks all around!" He put an arm around Gibbs and another over the man and led them inside. "Perhaps you've heard of me. Captain Jack Sparrow?"

The man's eyes widened. Jack smiled.

"You?"

"The stories were too fantastic to be believed, I see!" He motioned the barkeep for three drinks. "Don't be too dismayed. I'm sure most people would display the same reaction."

"No, no, it is not that."

Jack's face fell at the same times Gibbs stifled a chuckle.

"It is…it is too great a coincidence. She only thought you might be here…I have something for you."

"Jack, this is all starting to feel a little bit bizarre…" Gibbs started, but Jack hushed him, palming the paper the man pushed across the table to him. Reading the notice silently, Jack smirked at the list of his crimes, all of which he'd been found guilty, and the fact that dried apples were sold to the crowd of witnesses at his hanging. "'They should take care how they brought money into the Caribbean to be hanged for it'? I never said that. Good line, though." He slowed his speech, glancing up from the report, heart racing. "This a gift?"

"Not from me. From the woman who freed me."

Pretending to wipe his mouth, he used his hand to cover the burgeoning grin on his face. To think that had events been altered just slightly, he might have run into her, talked to her, had her give it to him herself.

"Freed, you say? What from?"

"Slavery. I think she only freed me because someone in the crowd mentioned my pirate brand."

"I'm inclined to concur with that." Jack nodded. "Let's see it."

The man pushed back the sleeve of his coat to show off a pink, worm-like "P" singed into his dark flesh.

"May I be so bold as to inquire if ye speak and read Turkish?" Lizzie, love, you may have just initiated a business arrangement for me.

* * *

Dhananjay had omitted certain truths from Lizzie, Jack discovered after failing to recognize the name. After the _Hammerhead's Eye _had been demolished by the slave ship, Dhananjay suffered a broken leg, so broken the surgeon debated whether or not amputation was necessary. But, as fate would have it, it was nothing a few leeches couldn't mend. More than a few, Jack had commented, hearing about how the surgeon had placed twenty leeches all over Dhananjay's lanky body, underneath his tongue, under his arms, his navel, the tips of his toes… The surgeon and crew of the slave ship named him Leech, applauding the surgeon for such sadistic torture.

"And ye like that name?" Jack had asked, cringing.

"It is easier for the English to pronounce." Dha...Leech had shrugged.

Now in his cabin, free from Norrington, at least for the time being, and the encumbrance of hauling the _Dauntless _everywhere, he could work. They would scale up the colonies and then head east to Europe, winding around Spain and Italy until Constantinople, where the key to the key laid waiting for him.

Rolling out the chart, he placed his ink bottle and a few books on the corners to pin it. He pulled out his compass from his pocket, flipped up the lid, and set it down near his left for later. Suppose he could have just asked Tia Dalma where the key was, he thought, but dismissed the thought. The price would have been too high. Well, at least ye got a crewman out of the ordeal. It triggered the image of Lizzie at the helm, that glorious image that could only be improved upon by changing the ship to make it worthy of her. For a moment, he entertained the thought of her on the _Pearl_, her creamy hands grasping the ebony spokes of the helm, firm but gentle, knowing just how much to move with the ship and how much friction to allow.

Back to work, he decided. Taking a quill, he leaned over to check his compass. The arrow pointed due south, the six o'clock position. South? He tapped it. North, for once in your life you really do need to point north. He watched it tilt, but linger back in the due south position. Odd.

* * *

_"Jack, it must be really terrible for you to be trapped on this island."_

_Not this time. He remembers. He's done exactly what she's done, feigning a swig here and there, easy to do when staying sober means your vision won't blur and your vision is occupied with her. _

_"Oh, yes. But the company is infinitely better than last time, I think. The scenery has definitely improved." His arm is all the way around her, the warmth of her head on his chest._

_"Mister Sparrow!"_

_Mister? That had better be coyness._

_"I'm not sure I've had enough rum to allow that kind of talk."_

_No, I bloody well know you haven't. She either hasn't realized or doesn't care that his hand is loitering on the back of her neck, sifting through her wavy hair, the pads of his fingers growing addicted to her soft skin. He backed off last time, paved the way for her Yang to rain down on him—active, creative, forceful, masculine…pirate. There was something about that, had its charms. Why else would he have wanted this second chance with her? But tonight he wanted the Yin, her femininity, her receptiveness, her willingness to receive…because he would give. He would give her the night of her life. Swooping down, he cupped her cheeks and kissed her, feeling her hair spill over his hands. _

_Her arms engulf him and clasp around the back of his neck, her nails applying just the right amount of pressure on him. Growing braver, he cradles her head with one hand and the small of her back with the other, preparing to lay her down on the sand. _

_On top of her, the grains of sand speckling her shift scrape against his legs, her arms dropping down to perch on his shoulders. Still luxuriating in her lips, he almost lets a moan escape when she breaks away from them to kiss his neck, his collarbone. Her shift leaves little to the imagination, but he wants to feel everything underneath it. He starts with a breast, massaging it, ready to cut her out of her shift so he can slither down and mark each new place with his lips. And that's only the beginning._

* * *

**A/N: A couple of things to address here. I am totally making up Leech's story. There isn't much on him in the Pirates Wiki page. "They should take care how they brought Money into New England to be Hanged for it" was actually spoken by a Captain Jack Quelch, who addressed this to the crowd right before he hanged in Boston in 1704. I thought it was a pretty snarky thing to say, especially since Quelch also bowed to them. This is technically the end of Part 1, ending on 4 July (I'm a patriot, what can I say?). Part 2 will start with the next chapter, which will take place on 3 October. As far as the real world goes, I'll still update on an average of once a week. I'm just giving you a baseline to show how much time has passed. **


	12. Chapter 12

191 Days Before

At the dining room table, Elizabeth and Estrella sat perpendicular from each other, writing out the wedding invitations with a mastered fluidity. It took only a half dozen to perfect the routine: write, set to dry while starting the next one, fold, place in the envelope, seal.

"You must be excited about seeing your cousins, miss."

"I suppose I should be. It's been so long." Three sets of aunts and uncles and six cousins…the remaining guests were acquaintances and associates from London as well as Port Royal, politics dictating they be invited more than any person insisting on their presence. With each curve of the quill, she felt the sting of another lie, writing "The honor of your presence is requested…"

"Are you going to have attendants, miss, if it's not too bold to ask?"

Elizabeth's head shot up from the desk and locked eyes with Estrella. Neither spoke, instead memorizing each other's faces. Twenty-six, delicate, bird-like features, shiny raven hair and long eyelashes—she'd be dazzling in a bridesmaid gown. None of the guests from London would know, and the ones from Port Royal probably wouldn't recognize her. She'd be like Cinderella, cleaned up so neatly and magnificently she'd be no less than a mystery woman. It would be hard pressed for a single man to not instantly fall in love with her.

Their eyes drifted back down to the invitations. Tears prickled Elizabeth's eyes.

"Estrella, do you ever fancy yourself marrying?"

"Oh, I suppose I will one of these days, miss. Most everyone does." She stacked a few envelopes. "It'd have to be a smart match, to be sure, and I'd have to be madly in love, of course."

It was the most Estrella had ever said about herself at one time, Elizabeth noticed, feeling the shame build up in her throat.

"Well, I'm sure you'll have more true friends at your wedding than I shall have at mine. At least you'll be there," she said. They glanced at each other again, quills in hand.

"Is that what we are, miss, friends? It ain't really fitting for…" she trailed off, hurrying out another invitation, her lips pressed together, probably recalling each secret she knew about her employer's daughter, Elizabeth guessed, swallowing and returning to the invitations herself. Father had warned her that day on the beach when he'd announced the opportunity to move out here that there would be few girls her age to play with, not even a great number of boys. It was a sacrifice she'd been more than willing to make for the promise of adventure, and she'd found it, found Will. It was greed and greed alone that made her yearn for more.

"Miss Elizabeth?"

She'd never been so relieved to see Perkins, face reddened from being outside all morning.

"Yes, Perkins? What is it?"

"I'd forgotten to tell you earlier. Your father asked you meet him at the fort this afternoon. He neglected to mention why. Did you want me to prepare the carriage?"

"No. I'll walk." She heard the screeching of Estrella sliding her chair out from under the table. "Alone."

* * *

"Father?"

"Yes. Come in, Elizabeth. Close the door behind you."

Doing so, her mouth fell open at seeing Will in the office, his large brown eyes so full of pity she almost burst into tears. For as long as she'd known him, seeing him in any pain felt like a knife being twisted into her own heart, gutting it until there was nothing left. Without waiting for an invitation, she fell back into one of the chairs. Her mind emptied itself, prepared to face whatever abhorrent news was about to come rather than be an instrument of torture to her.

"What's happened?" she asked.

"It seems Sir Beckett follows through on his threats," her father said, waving a piece of parchment. Reaching over his desk, he handed it to her. "Read that, a petition for my removal."

"It can't be." But with each word her eyes scanned, she realized the truth was staring right at her. She brought her hand up to her mouth at the familiar signatures across the page. "We've welcomed most of these people into our house," she breathed.

"A representative of the king will be coming here in about two months' time," Governor Swann said in a hoarse voice. "He'll make his observations and report back to the king."

"Can't Uncle…"

"…We are on our own, my dear," her father interrupted. "That's why I brought you here, to consider our options."

"Options?" Her nostrils flared. "You mean returning to England." Feeling the heat pouring from her eyes when he remained silent, she snapped out, "This is our home! Will just secured the smithy as his own. The only way he could do the same in England is by accepting your charity." She glanced over at Will, trying to read what he seemed to be emoting to her. No. No, her father would not ask such a… "Do you mean for me to break off our engagement?"

"No, no one is in favor of that." She tensed at his hesitant answer.

"No, but you certainly wouldn't mind if I do."

"Elizabeth," Will said. "Your family's name has already been dragged through the mud, by people you thought you could trust, no less." His head motioned at the parchment. "If your father is removed, going back to England would no longer be only an option."

Fighting the urge to throw herself to the floor and thrash out an epic tantrum, she instead drew in her head and held it with her hands, trying to will herself into deep thought. All she could conjure were memories of the palm trees swishing back and forth in the warm, salty breeze, the silhouettes of porpoises dancing out on the horizon, and Mrs. Elizabeth Turner being escorted by her new husband down the aisle, the traitorous signature of each guest hovering above their heads.

"You must win over that man when he comes, Father," she said. "There's no other way. You'll have to reiterate to him all your achievements. Surely we can determine a percentage the crime rate has dropped since you've been here…"

"Elizabeth, you can't expect…" He sighed, letting his arms fall flat onto his desk. "Unfortunately, there are certain things in this world that depend more on image than facts. Politics is one of them. Our focus must be on winning these people over all over again. I'm on your side, Elizabeth." His hand crawled across and clasped hers. "I wish the world was a more just place, where one was judged solely by his merits. That's what should really matter."

"What a man can do and what a man can't do," Will muttered, so monotone and low Elizabeth wondered if he'd slipped into a brief trance. She threw a quizzical look at him, startled at the astounded look he was now giving her father.

"Yes," Governor Swann continued. "But we haven't that luxury. Help me think of something."

She tried, but the words Will had just chanted kept replaying.

"We must throw a party."

"Excuse me?"

"We'll host a Christmas party while the representative is here," Governor Swann said, dipping his quill into the ink and making notes. "It must be lavish without appearing desperate. Is this enough time in advance that you could order some holly and greenery?" He looked up at her, and then back down to his notes.

"Father, we can't have these people over to the house, not after what they've done." We ought to slit their throats one by one.

"Trust me, my dear. This will save us."

"Sir, you can't ask Elizabeth to do this." Will stood and walked over to her. "You've always acted on principle before."

"Will…Elizabeth…you're both young and, if you'll forgive me for saying so, innocent. Those are strengths that Sir Beckett does not have. We also have the fact that we are liked on our side, even if the respect is slowly waning." He paused to wallow in what Elizabeth perceived to be self-loathing. "That is what we want these people to remember, that they have indeed been in our house and treated to our hospitality. Perception! Sometimes the only way to get what you want is to convince another that they want it, too."

There were times, disrespectful times, Elizabeth admitted, when she wondered just how her father succeeded in so cutthroat a field as politics, how someone so softhearted and doting made those difficult, unspoken decisions day after day. Intelligence could only carry him so far, and it was then Elizabeth understood the emphasis he had placed on perception, how the rest of the world needed to perceive him as charismatic and ruthless if one rubbed him the wrong way. She found this newly discovered side to him enthralling.

"I'll take those notes then," she offered.

"Elizabeth, are you sure?" Will asked. She gathered up the notes and stood, facing him.

"Will, you abandoned your principles once, do you remember?" Caressing his cheek, she suddenly felt like a mother building up a child's confidence. "You turned pirate for me. I won't take everything you waited on for so long by dragging you to England…and I am not ending the engagement." She reconsidered rolling her eyes and pulled him closer to her. "You turned pirate for me. Maybe I can turn pirate for you."

"A lady of the house turning pirate does sound fascinating." The backs of his fingers grazed her temple. Closing her eyes, she kissed him, feeling she could absorb all that inner strength, that resolute power that enabled Will to always act in accordance with his conscience…unless she was in danger, of course. "You really wouldn't go back to England?" His forehead dropped down onto hers.

"I promise you neither of us will ever see England again. We'd freeze to death."

* * *

Will escorted her back to the house, expressing his desire to be able to stay but the orders were coming in now—keys, swords, horseshoes, iron furniture. In short, she commented, he was a rising star likely to become as bright as the great North Star itself. Kissing him one last time for the day, she let herself into the foyer and crossed into the sitting room. The rest of the invitations can wait, she thought, anxious to plop down into one of the chairs and prop open a book. Hearing footsteps on the other side of the door sprinting further away until she heard the door on the other end of the room slam, she hesitated.

Pushing open the door to the sitting room, she spotted Estrella in the corner with one of the curtains wrapped around her.

"Estrella?"

"Be along in a moment, miss," she heaved, scuffling behind the curtain. Elizabeth stood on her tiptoes, catching Estrella tying her apron into a bow. Emerging from the curtain, she smoothed her hair and tucked most of it back into her cap. Glowing skin framed her half-lidded eyes.

"Is everything all right, Estrella?"

"Fine, miss, fine. I, I thought I saw a skein of wool behind the curtain there and my apron about came right off right as I was bending down to look. Was everything all right at the fort?" She folded her arms across her chest and stared out the window.

"We'll be hosting a party around Christmastime." Elizabeth picked up one of the books resting on the table, her eyes never leaving Estrella. "What color was the skein you thought you saw?"

"What? Oh, it was…"

"Estrella." She shot out her sternest expression.

"Gray. I saw a flash of gray, but as you can see, there's no gray here now. I daresay it might have been a mouse! We'll have to let the cats start prowling around inside if that be the case. Was there anything you wanted, miss? If not, I'd best be seeing to the linens now."

"Run along then," she snapped, glaring daggers at Estrella as she bustled out of the sitting room. Too good a liar, she thought, sinking down into the chair.

* * *

**A/N: As I said in the previous chapter, it is roughly two months after the events of ch. 11, exactly five months after the end of COTBP. Do not own, but would love some reviews.**


	13. Chapter 13

186 Days Before

"Careful now," Gibbs called down to the men standing near the mast. "England's the last place we want to be spotted."

The rocky English coast stared at the ship in the darkness. Each lamp on the _Pearl _had been doused save for just enough lanterns to allow the crew to sail her. Jack held a lantern over the helm with one hand, yawning.

"Sure we can't sail during the day too while we're here?" Gibbs asked, climbing the steps up to him. "We'll all rest a little easier knowing England's behind us."

"Mr. Leech," Jack called down to the darkness, ignoring the question. Hearing Leech climb up to them, he lowered the lantern to shine some light on the charts. "Make yourself useful and translate this phrase here."

His bony black fingers engulfed the charts, trailing the Turkish print on them. Mouthing a few of the foreign words to himself, he straightened his back and looked at Jack.

"'The _Angelfish_,'" Leech said, folding his arms to suppress a shiver.

"That's around here? Guess we can't assume any legends to be just legends anymore," Gibbs sighed, scanning the coast. Without even opening his mouth, Jack listened to the upcoming story. "They say it's a ghost ship because you never hear it, never even see it, until it's too late. White ship to match her sails, captained by…"

"Captain?" Marty stood at the top step, avoiding Gibbs' murderous glare.

"Aye?"

"Sir, ye remember how when we was in Tortuga and we lost the Commodore and the _Dauntless _there?"

"Marty, we did not lose the _Dauntless. _We relinquished her so others may partake," Jack said.

"Oh. So you remember her?"

"Of course." Jack raised an eyebrow.

"And you remember how the Commodore was pretty bent out of shape about the whole thing?" He shuffled his feet and stared down at them.

"Spill it."

"Well, Captain, she's catching up to our rudder, port side."

Jack sprinted down the steps and across the deck, spotting the flapping Royal Navy flags poking out from the horizon.

"Full speed! Make fast the bunt gasket. Speed it up. Speed it up!" He ran back up to the helm, catching his balance while the _Pearl _lunged forward.

"You mean to outrun them?" Gibbs asked, taking the helm.

"There's a reason she's a fast ship, Mr. Gibbs."

"Holy Mother of Mercy, how did they catch up to us so fast?" He turned the wheel at a rabid pace. "Maybe if…"

"No use trying to make sense of something that's already happened," Leech said, pulling out a long narrow dagger. The _Dauntless _edged closer, the _Pearl _almost in range of its guns.

Picking up the lantern before it started a fire, Jack dangled it over the charts, shuffling through them for any crevice, any haven for them to hide until Norrington passed. The crew rushing up from below decks was merely a blur, catching it from the corner of his eye.

"Quick now!" he heard Gibbs yell down to them, his voice already gravel. "Start throwin' away swag if we got to!" He squatted down next to Jack, one hand on the helm. "Hopefully it won't come to that. What's the plan?"

"Here." Jack pointed to a small grotto on the charts, just tall and wide enough to swallow the _Pearl _and spit her back out. "He won't see it, not in the dark." It reminded him of the countless caverns of Shipwreck Cove, the light reflecting off the water and dancing on top of the jagged mouths of each cave, producing a downright ghostly atmosphere. Foreboding to men like Norrington, ethereally beautiful to anyone with a drop of pirate blood in them, he tried to remember if in his adolescence he realized how practical it could be to have such caves around for situations such as this.

The _Pearl _slipped closer to the coast, riding the choppy current, her sails bloated from the wind. Just a little longer, my girl, Jack willed her, pausing to stroke one of the boards that made up her deck before rising. Sensing the grotto was near, he fumbled for his compass and opened it, envisioning the rocky opening, the first moments of uninterrupted darkness upon entering it, his eyes adjusting, able to see his hands in front of his face. The arrow jerked a full one hundred and eighty degrees, pointing just to his left.

"There."

It would look like a magic act, Jack thought with a smirk. Now you see us; now you don't. Once Norrington rounded the bend, it would take a few moments for his mind to wrap around the fact that the _Black Pearl _had not vanished into thin air.

"He'll figure we're even faster, by my reckoning," Gibbs said, turning to him, allowing himself a small chuckle. "With any luck he'll bypass us all the way to France."

"Bad luck for the French," Jack said, just as the rudder of the ship passed the entrance, shrouding them.

"Shall we light a light, Captain?" someone hissed up from the deck.

"Not yet." Jack held out a finger. "Prepare to drop anchor." Holding his breath, he envisioned the _Dauntless _discover them at the exact moment the anchor hit the bottom. Ye used to be so optimistic, mate. What happened? The dark water rippled beneath them. "Hush."

Everyone froze, hearing only the waves smack against the hull, waiting for the _Dauntless _to pass. She creaked by, so close to the entrance they could hear the echo of men's voices, distorted and running together into a cacophonous murmur. Tiptoeing to the stern, Jack leaned his head out, squinting at the sliver of the moon that was reflected in a shattered formation on the water. A confident smirk crept up on his face.

"Drop anchor," he ordered, trying to maintain a hushed voice. The steady rattling of chains answered him.

"Staying the night in here?" Gibbs approached him with the lantern.

"Cozy, picturesque, reasonably warm." Jack shrugged. "Could do worse."

"And no boarding fees."

"Plenty of rum to be had."

"Aye, and…what was that?"

Almost in response to his question, the _Pearl _creaked, the only sound being movement in the water near her hull. Everyone crept to the railing, still unable to see much in the grotto.

"It sounded like something surfaced," one said.

Concentrating, Jack heard it again, a plucky ripple echoing off the cavernous walls.

"Porpoise?" another ventured.

"Too small to be a porpoise," Jack breathed, willing himself to not move a muscle until he could analyze a second sound. Sure enough, another ripple broke the heavy silence. "Shine the light."

Gibbs took the lantern and let it hang over the edge of the ship while he peered down, Jack and a few men surrounding him and following suit. Another ripple resounded from near the front of the ship. Jerking the lantern to shine on the bow, they paused to take in the sight of a narrow river in the distance, weaving back into a hollow abyss.

"Would you look at that…"

"Shh! I hear it again!"

"It's the _Flying Dutchman_."

"It ain't the _Flying Dutchman_. No one's dead!"

That doesn't always deter Davy Jones, Jack thought, but it wasn't time to face Jones yet, still had about six, maybe even seven months before that. He couldn't think about it for long, though, hearing yet another ripple.

"Too big to be fish," Leech said.

"Swords at the ready," Jack whispered to him, who passed the message along, hopping from one person to the next until everyone kept a hand on the grip of their sword.

The _Pearl _swayed from side to side, soft thuds coming from both ends. Gibbs spun around to shine the light. In an instant, five drenched men on both sides leapt over the rail onto the deck, firing their pistols in quick succession, half a dozen of the crewmen slumping over. The corpses impeded the rest of the crew, jumping and tripping over them while they fought.

Jack ran into the fray, sword in hand, attacking the nearest man. Dressed all in black, all Jack could see were the whites of his eyes and the sparkle of his teeth. Fighting blind, he took the lead and twisted their parrying around until he could reach one of the lanterns. Elbowing it, sword guarding his middle, it crashed to the deck, a small fire lighting up the grotto.

All of them were dressed in black, soaked to the bone. Like ants working on their hill, more men sprang from the water and up the sides of the _Pearl_, firing and slashing anything that came their way.

With a grunt, Jack caught the blade with his own and grinded it against it, maneuvering however he could to finagle it out of the man's hand. Sensing the man's grasp loosening, he drew back his sword, ready to fling it to the other side of the deck, when he blinked at some spray of water hitting his face. The newest reinforcements that leapt onto the deck were throwing buckets of water over the fire, placing their own lanterns a safe distance away. Nostrils flaring, eyes widening, he drove his sword right into his opponent at the horrifying but all-too-true fact: they wanted the _Pearl _alive.

Not my girl, you don't. Sword still in hand, he reached for his pistol with his left, drawing it out and taking aim.

"Is the fire contained?"

"Yes, Captain."

Most of the crew lay in a lifeless pile on the deck, the rest restrained by the drenched men. They all shuffled their feet to face a young woman, thick curls of auburn hair framing a pallid, porcelain face, the lanterns casting orange flecks in her sapphire eyes. Her own pistol ready, she held it at eye-level, right in Jack's direction.

"Captain Sparrow?" A sing-song accent accompanied her voice. "Captain Claudia Engel of the _Angelfish_. How do you do?"

"Ye have me attention, that's for certain." He leaned against the _Pearl_, picking at her with careless movements.

"That's not all I hope to have when we're through," she said, keeping her pistol aimed at him while she neared, holding out her other arm with her wrist dipped, gesturing for him to take the lead.

"Expecting a kiss?"

"It is the customary greeting."

Taking her hand, he brought it to his lips, his other arm reaching back to his holster…

"Even if you would be able to draw your pistol out in time to shoot me, my crew would make short work of you. My death isn't worth yours." He dropped his arm at his side. "That's it, self-preservation, hmm? What cold lips you have, Captain." She inspected her hand. "Then again, I suppose it's not the appropriate occasion for them to necessarily sizzle. Into the longboat."

"How's that?" He placed his hands on his belt, bending a leg to strut over to her.

"Into the longboat or your first mate dies." She drew a second pistol and aimed it at Gibbs.

"No need to rile yourself up," he said, taking his time to the railing, observing her.

"Now you." She waved the pistol at the longboat. Gibbs raised an eyebrow and caught up to Jack.

"Easy there, Claudia, was it? I have it on good, and numerous sources of, authority that I'm plenty of man enough for ye. Let's have at it before we start a _manage-a-trois_, as it were. Don't want to strain yourself now."

He expected a glare that could have frozen the entire Caribbean, but instead, she let out a merry laugh, even smiling at him afterwards. England's balmy ways must have extended all the way to their pirates, he thought, climbing into a longboat already manned by a few of her crew.

"Take them through the river back to the jail."

"What about the rest, Captain Engel?"

Tossing her hair, she surveyed Marty, Cotton, Leech, and about five others.

"Put them in the brig," she said. "We'll send a boat out tonight for their food."

Jack could not hear if anymore was said, the black-clothed men lowering the boat into the murky water and rowing at an unheard-of speed. His wrists rested on his knees.

"Why were you saying people assume she's got a ghost ship?" he asked Gibbs, not bothering to whisper.

"Well, er, probably because they're really good at sneaking up on ye." Gibbs shrugged, nodding his head at the reed one of their captors held. "They anchor their ship a way's away, use that to breathe whilst they swim to their victims… She's a mutineer, this one."

"Aye?"

"Aye, a first mate she was, to her own father, and he made it no secret he loved her more than any other soul on their ship. He'd tell the crews he'd defeated that she was his only source of light. But I 'spect pride and ambition overrode that affection…"

"And here comes the turning point."

"Led a mutiny against her own father, convinced half the crew he'd been holdin' out on 'em, not using them to their full potential. He was about dead on the deck, arms and legs spread, blood everywhere. With a smile on her face—a smile!—she took hold of a harpoon…" He balled his hand into a fist and looked ready to stake an invisible vampire. "And gutted him like a fish." He traced his own side with his fingers. "From then on, it was her ship."

"What became of the half of the crew that she failed to convince?" Jack asked, his eyes drifting back to the _Pearl. _

"I don't see 'em hanging about anywhere, do you?"

* * *

The abandoned fort looked more like a stretched-out potting shed, leading anyone who viewed it to wonder just how long it held out before succumbing to some enemy's hand. The men threw them into a small cell, a few manacles bolted into the walls, and shackled them on either side of the room. Pulling on their chains, Jack and Gibbs realized simultaneously their boots could touch if both stretched only a fraction. Stripped of their belts, weapons, even shirts, Jack gave a mournful, longing gaze at his hat, sitting in the seat of a chair with his effects scattered on it.

"What's that on your chest, mate?"

"Oh, her? Got that as a lad, I did, eighteen." Gibbs puffed out his chest to show a long-tailed mermaid tattooed on his chest, golden hair all around her, breasts so supple they begged a man to take one in his mouth.

"Got a name?"

"Huh? No, not really, just call her Siren."

"Your men will be kept alive, Captain, as will the two of you," Claudia interrupted, descending down three steps, pausing between them. "You can take my word the Navy will not find you here, so you are quite safe from them. You're a pirate lord, are you not? Of the Caribbean? You've flown a long way from home, Captain Sparrow."

"Pinning up me arms like this ain't doing them any favors then." He pulled on his chains again.

"Where is the dead man's chest?"

"Why? You want it?"

"Of course I want it." There was that smarmy smile again, Jack noted, so full of benevolence he had to wonder if she was just a simpleton who had no idea she had done anything that could remotely be considered reprehensible. "You're after it. You must know where it is."

"One would think so. The brethren court won't take much of a liking to ye, even though most of them would be happy to be in your boots right now, I'd wager…"

"The brethren court? By the time I have the chest, they'll be forgotten, everyone realizing they're as ineffectual as they are now. The brethren court is of the past, the Code is of the past, but power attained by one individual…that is the future. Tell me where the chest is, Captain Sparrow, and you and Mr. Gibbs can go back onto your gorgeous _Black Pearl _and sail off to wherever you may like."

"Tell you what I'll do." Jack straightened, at last knowing what she wanted. "Just undo the locks on these little thingamajigs and we'll go out and find the chest for you, what say you to that? Think about it—in league with one of the pirate lords. The others would never suspect you're wanting to dispose of them. The fastest ship in the Caribbean on your side, double your laborers, plus the company of said charming pirate lord, and all I'd be wanting in exchange is that you use that heart to steer me clear of Jones. Fair deal, eh?"

"I was warned of this." She wagged a finger at him, looking about to break into a small fit of giggles. "While it is fair, more than fair, I can't help but presume you would end up betraying me." She squatted in front of him. "I'm afraid I've trained myself too well to really listen to any proposals coming from you, Captain. One more time, where is the chest?"

"Don't rightly know. Let's you and me go and find it, eh?" He could feel his eyes darkening, nostrils flaring, hips working their way to her—all practiced methods of buying the best whore for the night and making her believe she was the one whose needs would be quenched.

"You'll be staying here for a while." She signaled to her guard to accompany her out. Stopping on the first step, she turned to them. "You'll find out why later. Goodnight." With the closing of the door, Jack and Gibbs could not even see each other in the endless dark.

* * *

**A/N: The story of the _Angelfish _isn't based on anything that I know of, original story! Woo hoo! Claudia's name means "crippled angel," according to the Behind the Name website. Make of that what you will. I wish I could say this was a special post in honor of Valentine's Day, but the timing just didn't work out. So to tie this all back to the day set aside to celebrate love, I love all the reviews I've received and would love to read more! How am I doing?**


	14. Chapter 14

171 Days Before

Elizabeth spat out a soaked hair, tossing her head to fling away the loose strands sticking to her. Glazed in sweat, it stung her eyes when she tried the maneuver again. With a cry, she turned and planted her feet, shoulder-width apart, and drove both the swords behind her into the straw-filled dummies.

"Hold them a bit closer to you. They won't touch you," Will said, stepping back to nudge one of the dummies. She had nicked the far side of one. "If you hold them closer, you'll get both of them right here." His hand circled the dummy's middle. "Try again."

Panting, she turned her back on the dummies again, feeling the grip and pommel of the swords grind against newly-formed calluses on her palms. Right under the pits of your arms, she instructed herself, narrowing her eyes at the haggard wall in front of her. Grunting, she flipped the swords in her hands and rammed them into her stationary opponents.

"Better!"

Unable to pull her sword out of the stuffed burlap, she left the swords stuck in them to flex her arms.

"Elizabeth…"

"I know, I know. 'Build up my strength.'" She puckered her lips at the growing soreness in her shoulders. Spitting out another hair, she shivered at Will nearing her and gathering up her ponytail. Wordlessly, he undid the string and collected the damp waves.

"Like a bushel of wheat," he whispered, the masculine gentility in his voice breathing on her neck while he redid her tail. Feeling a drop of sweat course down her temple and dribble off her chin, she turned towards him, heart still crossing oceans a second, face to face with him. Her fiancé. It still didn't feel real, she thought, knowing it was only a few more months before this face would be the last thing she would see before she went to sleep, the first thing she would see in the morning… Cocking her head, she pursed her lips.

"Later I can show you how to decapitate them," Will sputtered out, mouth dropped open in awe. Seducing Will, more fun than it should have been, she thought, pouting out her lips more to reel him closer. Her hands slid up his back, clammy from exertion, their fronts leaning against each other. He kissed her with salty, slippery lips, his arms tense. Breaking away from him, she shot him a flirtatious smile, blushing suddenly at her forwardness. Ladies do not entice, she scolded herself, standing near the entrance waiting for Estrella to come with her dress and escort her upstairs to the living quarters to clean up.

"Maybe one day she'll forget to come," Will said, pulling one of the swords out of the dummy.

"Will, let me do that."

"No, I have it."

"Miss?" they heard from the door. Estrella came through with a bright indigo dress folded over her arm, a full bag in her other. "I'm here with your things."

"Thank you. I'll just be upstairs." Elizabeth waited for Estrella to catch up to her.

"I'll chaperone from down here, miss, if that's all right. Bit fatigued."

Nodding, Elizabeth opened the back door and placed her foot up the first step when she heard a sob.

"Estrella?" she heard Will's nervous voice, stunned, judging by the tone. "Are you all right?"

"Oh, I'm fine, Mr. Turner," she sniffled.

"I have a handkerchief somewhere…" Adorable, Elizabeth thought, listening to Will's shuffles, probably combing the place for a handkerchief. But whatever could be wrong? None of your business, that's what. Go upstairs. But her feet stayed planted where they were.

"Here we are." She could hear Will cross the floor, his voice diminishing. "What happened?"

"Oh, oh, nothing." Elizabeth scrunched her face at the distinctive sound of a nose being blown. "Well, Mr. Turner, you consider yourself a rational man?"

"Er, I suppose."

"You promise you won't make the situation worse?"

"What situation?"

What situation indeed. Elizabeth pressed her face into the wall, trying to make out any shapes through a narrow hole.

"Coming down here, I was overhearing some people talking about the Swanns, sir." Her voice wobbled, followed by another sniffle. Hearing the broken voice of someone usually so cheerful tore at Elizabeth's heart, ready to barge into the shop, take her swords, and demonstrate her skill to whatever roughnecks made her cry.

"It's to be expected, Estrella," Will said. "They're fighting so hard to keep their reputation…and Governor Swann's position. The best we can do is keep a stiff upper lip and hold our heads high."

"It's not that." Elizabeth caught a glimpse of Estrella quaking through the hole before the image blurred. "After all Miss Elizabeth's been through, dragging her name through the mud like that. She's a great lady, Mr. Turner, and an honorable one too."

"They insulted Elizabeth?" She didn't need to see the change that had come over Will, his tone deepening, switching from polite consolation to straight business. She could almost see his fists clench. "What did they say?"

"It wouldn't be fitting to go into details." Squinting, she could make out Estrella hugging herself.

"Who said it?"

"Mr. Turner, you dragged it out of me! You can't go in the street and cause a scene. It'll only make matters worse. Anyone who knows Miss Elizabeth knows it isn't true, that she'd never lower herself to that, and to use you that way! It's one thing to abet a pirate, and I'll be the first to admit Captain Sparrow takes my breath away, but…"

"What did they say?" Will asked again, more than a growl accompanying his voice. "Tell me."

"It's them sailors, sir, the ones who shot their mouths off when Commodore Norrington and all of you returned, finding her on that island, ye see…that's how it's got around. They was speculating why she wasn't showing."

"Showing?"

"Sir, don't make me…you know. Showing…with child?"

Elizabeth paled. Her head fell onto the wall, too weak to support itself. In itself, it wasn't news. Cornelia had pretty much assumed the same thing when she'd been at the house before, but…with child? Somehow it had escalated to where she was not only a pirate's whore but the soon-to-be mother of his child? She took a shaky seat on the step.

"Mr. Turner! Mr. Turner, don't go."

Springing up, Elizabeth ran around the side of the smithy shop until she spotted Will, sword in hand, approaching a group of sailors resting on the rock railing on the bridge leading down to the harbor, smoking and laughing and brushing dust off their red coats.

"Will!" Dashing over to him, even at a time like this feeling the freedom trousers and boots allowed her stride, she pummeled into him, bracing his arm to stop herself.

"You heard everything."

"Estrella's right, Will. Don't go over there. If we act like it's true…" She tightened her grip on his arm. "They'll learn it's not true anyway," she whispered, blushing at the subject and at Will's face. "Don't look so beside yourself. They'll see." Winding her hand through his hair, she leaned her head back and smiled at him. "If they're already wondering why I'm not showing, imagine their disappointment when I stay the same size I always have been."

"Don't smile in such a motherly way." But he said it with the corners of his mouth turning up, rendering Elizabeth no choice but to do it again.

"You're very sweet to defend my honor. I'm sure the Navy would have had three casualties today."

* * *

Elizabeth waited in the carriage for her father, fanning herself in time with Perkins' impatient tapping just outside.

"Benjamin Perkins, you will drive me mad if you keep that up," she warned.

"Sorry, miss."

"Elizabeth! You brought the carriage." Sticking her head out the window, she waved at her father, taking in the cool evening breeze.

"You've been staying so late I figured you would like a short ride instead of a long walk." Governor Swann climbed into the carriage, waving away Perkins' arm and plopped into the cushion across from her.

"This is much more agreeable," he said, adjusting. "Thank you, my dear."

"Dinner is being prepared…"

"…without you?"

"Once a week in the kitchen is about all Rhoda can stand of me. The decorations for the party have been ordered, the extra parchment from the wedding invitations can be used…today was the day the floors were polished, so be sure to mention something to the maids when you walk in. I daresay you'll be able to see your reflection in them, especially there in the foyer." She gazed out the window. "I've received some roundabout inquiries as to why the wedding isn't for so long."

"Elizabeth, we've been through this. The last thing we need right now is a hasty wedding."

"Yes, I know, but why is that the last thing we need?" She could feel her eyes burning, her neck straightening, an eyebrow raised.

"As I've said, to allow things to calm down," Governor Swann said. "It would have appeared nothing less than rude to have married Will so shortly after breaking off your engagement to Commodore Norrington."

"We had not even formally announced it," she countered, his reticence fueling her anger. "Did you think there was a specific length of time we needed to wait?"

They stared at each other, facing off with no chess board between them, each one desperate to calculate the other's next series of moves. Say it, Father, she dared. We're in the carriage, no one to overhear. Say what it was you feared.

"Yes, I think given the circumstances a year was an appropriate length of time. What's brought all this on?"

"You thought I was with child, didn't you?"

"What?" She took satisfaction in his discomfort, noting the shift in his weight and his aghast expression, making sure she herself remained motionless. "Elizabeth, this is not…"

"You thought on that island that Jack…" She clamped her mouth shut, the first mentioning of his name since all this suddenly making it more real, easier to imagine.

"I thought nothing of the sort," he snapped. "I raised you better than that."

"Admit it. You thought that if I married Will right away everyone would suspect we were covering something up."

"You don't think they would have? You put it past them?"

"You might have told me the truth as to why you insisted Will and I be in this limbo."

"I did tell you the truth," Governor Swann said, for once letting Elizabeth see where she had gotten the fire in her eyes. "A year is enough time for everything to calm down. You see how five months have gone by and still people are talking about it, still salvaging what Barbossa and his horde wrecked. You had just ended an engagement as suddenly as you had accepted the proposal, helped the pirate whom you'd been found on an island with escape, and made your feelings about a lower-class blacksmith public all in less than a fortnight! Imagine tacking on a wedding to all of that. We'd have this place running amok, to be sure. There was no need to tell you on top of all that, that there were a few who thought you would also be in a predicament."

She considered arguing that secrets weren't an asset to their relationship, but then counted how many she herself had already amassed, most of them revolving around the events he had already listed. Her head down, she closed her eyes, willing herself to accept that her father could be allowed a secret or two of his own.

"Will nearly killed some people who were talking about it," she whispered to the floor of the carriage.

"At least he didn't believe it," Governor Swann said to himself before turning back to face her. "I fancy you could have as well. Your lessons have been going well?"

"Very well, thank you," she said, her mind far away.

* * *

Pushing her hair back so her neck could feel the cool softness of her pillow, Elizabeth stared up at the canopy of her bed, twirling a lock to busy her hands.

_"Finally done sulking, are we?" she asked, still sitting in the surf with her knees up, repressing a giggle at Jack stomping back to her, the flames and smoke still stretching up to the sky. He didn't answer; instead he played with one of the sashes looped through his trousers as a belt. "It's only rum."_

_"Never say that to a pirate, darling," was all he said, sash now in hand, bustling over to one of the trees. Somehow she knew he knew he held her attention, but she twisted her torso anyway, watching him loop it around the tree trunk and contort it around his wrist._

_"What are you doing?"_

_"Assuring I'm not shot on sight."_

_Not knowing why, Elizabeth let a small laugh escape._

_"It may be funny to you, love, but I am deathly serious," he said with such a deadpan tone it compelled her to stand. Bending down and using his teeth to wind it around his wrists, he breathed a curse and sighed. "If you'd be so kind?" _

_Approaching him, her fingers grazed the silky blood-colored sash spread so tightly around the tree trunk it looked ready to snap._

_"What is it I'm supposed to be doing?"_

_"Tie me to it." His face perked up. "While I'm constrained I can busy myself with why you're so amused by this." She bit her lip. "Go on. Ye can't hurt me."_

_She looped the sash around his wrist before bringing it to the tree, prying his hand open to cup the trunk. Sidestepping to the other side, she did the same with his other hand. At last she had two ends to bring around and tie into a knot. He jostled a little. _

_"Tighter."_

_"Doesn't the fact you're not able to go anywhere suffice?" she asked extra dryly, compensating for not understanding._

_"Has to look like Barbossa's men did it as soon as we arrived. No redcoat is going to think I had me way with ye and decide to teach me a lesson in manners."_

_Oh._

_Pulling the sash, it tightened._

_"It won't go much more than that."_

_"That'll have to do then. At least there's no slack." He pulled again, testing it. "Not bad. See? No way to lay a hand on ye." He wiggled his bound fingers._

_"They'll still probably put you in the brig," she said, deciding to try a different knot. She undid the first one and played with the ends._

_"Better than dead and in fact, better than what your predicament will be." He grinned at her. _

_"Which is?"_

_"Having to endure the company of the Commodore on deck."_

_She shouldn't have laughed, but she did, and then undid the knot and tried another._

_"Miss Swann, are…"_

_They both turned, Gillette making his way to them, the longboat lodged in the firm wet sand behind him. About to ask for James, she paused and mimicked his shocked expression. His mouth seemed to stumble over mute words, trying to make sense of his view. Elizabeth inspected herself, wondering if she should have hidden, professing being in only her shift made her indecent. Three more sailors, officers, caught up to Gillette, but instead of matching his bewildered face, emitted amused ones, ones that looked full of pleasant surprise._

_"Instead of gawking at the lady you might want to inquire if she's hurt," Jack said. That seemed to wake them up, Elizabeth thought, although their knowing expressions remained._

_"Er, yes, glad to see you're all right, miss," Gillette stuttered, turning his attention to the men. "Step to."_

_"You'd think it would take more than a shift to point out how uncivilized they are," she mumbled to herself._

_"It's nothing to do with that," Jack whispered to her, going quiet while they untied him and gestured with their muskets to march to the longboat. He paused and held out his hand, waiting for the return of his sash. One of the men rolled his eyes before dropping it into his hands. "It does, however, have everything to do with this."_

_"What do you mean?" She ran up next to him, ignoring the muskets. He met her eyes with uncharacteristic reluctance, as if he were examining her to determine if she ought to hear just what it was he meant._

_"Think about it," he prompted._

_"I am, and I fail to see…" He leaned closer to her._

_"They think you and I were playing a little game, love, one that often leads to another kind of game." He waited for her understanding. "Come, come, Lizzie, surely one as gifted in the art of seduction as yourself at least ought to know the ins and outs of it."_

_The blazing sun couldn't redden her cheeks any more than that statement. Folding her arms, she kept silent in the longboat, head erect, hands in a ladylike position of one over the other in her lap, dismissing every leer and snort with refined ignorance, shoving them out completely once she saw her father and James on the deck of the ship. Before either of them could even address her, she domineered them into focusing on the business of tracking Will…and Barbossa._

Seduction. She snorted in bed. If anything were to take the credit, it would be the rum. Anyone could have done the same thing and garner in the same outcome. Besides, of the two, she was not the seducer. She was the one who knew limits, who set them without needing to be told, a far cry from the countless whores he must have been with who could only hope he paid them just so they could put bread on the table. Yet she couldn't help but feel jealous. Letting go of her hair, she wrung her hands together. Jealous of whores, what next, she shook her head at herself. While imagining…it…was far from disdainful, she knew what would await her—forgotten, discarded like a dish towel. What woman in her right mind would be the seductress when that was the aftermath? Still, her hands flew back to her hair, twining it around her fingers…was it strange people believed they had been together? Was it strange some didn't believe it? No, you're the strange one for giving it so much thought. She rolled onto her side to blow out the candle, but instead opened her drawer and lifted the board to uncover her treasures, her most secret keepsakes, Jack's ring the newest addition. Putting it on, she blew out the candle and closed her eyes.

* * *

**A/N: Don't own! For once a chapter with nothing to cite, but don't own. Never own.**


	15. Chapter 15

170 Days Before

"Alas, my love, you do me wrong/To cast me off discourteously/And I have loved you so long/Delighting in your company."

Sometimes they could make whoever their warden was for the day join in while he placed apples or chicken legs in their chained hands, just loose enough for them to bring the food to their mouths.

"Greensleeves was all my joy/Greensleeves was my delight/Greensleeves was my heart of gold/And who but my lady Greensleeves," three voices sang out, only one with enough strength to really do so. In between endless escape plotting, they sang, if for no other reason than to try to irritate Claudia on the rare occasion she herself came down to them.

* * *

166 Days Before

"Nice to see you are an early riser, Captain Sparrow."

Mouth cracked and dry, Jack winked at Claudia instead, pondering the notion that at this rate with just enough food to be kept alive, he would waste away just enough to slip his wrist through the shackles.

"Good morning, Mr. Gibbs."

Gibbs didn't speak either, beads of sweat already oozing down his chest, right across that blonde mermaid's tail. Groaning, Jack shifted to be able to glance down at his own chest, already dampened. Not good.

"You get a special ration today." She squatted down to him, near enough the tips of her curls grazed his face. In her palm, guarded all the way around by her other hand, laid a stocky round pot, so white and brittle he guessed it to be carved from marble. Its gray veins swirled around it, obscuring whatever liquid sat inside.

"Bad luck to have rum this early," Gibbs coughed from behind her.

"This is something special." Claudia flashed him a smile, so sweet and precious Jack could feel his eyes rotting just by looking at it. "This is why you have been here so long. It takes a while to brew, but the effects are well worth it."

"Sure sounds like rum to me," Jack said, adding a weary laugh at the sight of one of her men approaching them with some sort of funnel.

"Hold his head."

The gargantuan man zoomed behind Jack and jerked his head back, stuffing the funnel into his mouth and restraining him so well no vice could have done any better. Standing, she took the lid off the pot and poured the contents down the funnel, a scalding, bitter taste infiltrating his tongue and throat, like swallowing blazing almonds. Wheezing as the guard removed the funnel, he flopped his tongue every which way, trying to summon up enough saliva to wash out the taste. Claudia's smile only grew larger. Not good at all, he thought in between gasps.

"You should test it, Captain." The guard's low sing-song accent nauseated Jack.

"I'm fine, Rafe. I have it under control." She knelt back down to him. "What is your name?"

"Captain Jack Sparrow." What game was this? She mimicked his baffled face and shot out that toxic smile again.

"We'll try an easy one first, something harmless. How many tattoos do you have?"

"Six…go to hell."

"And…how old were you when you were first with a woman?"

"Sixteen."

"Have you ever murdered anyone? How many?"

"Two."

"It works," she breathed. "You don't know how relieved I am to know that, Captain Sparrow. It took a long time to prepare this and the price we paid for it in the first place was…undesirable." She and her minion shared a regretful glance before she faced him again. "I'll play a little more fairly and let you know what it is. You see, this is a very special kind of elixir, one so many believe to be a myth. Its main purpose is honesty, in a nutshell." She ran her fingers through his hair, crinkling one of the rope-like strands. "Be flattered we've heard of your, shall we say, aptitude for deceiving? It takes a quick-thinking mind to be so adept at such a thing, even though I can only imagine the trouble it must cause you at times, keeping lie after lie straight up there." She tapped on his temple. "There are probably dozens of lies you even tell yourself day after day. Now, show some gratitude to me for turning that part of your mind off, hmm?"

"That whole thing sounds like a bluff, lass."

"Does it? Tell me, Captain Sparrow, what miraculous feat did you perform to free yourself and that girl from that island you were twice-marooned on by Captain Barbossa?"

He grinded his teeth together, fighting what felt like a hammer pounding into his head.

"She…burned the rum," he exhaled, letting his head fall back against the stone wall, feeling like he had just surfaced after ascending a hundred fathoms in the iciest ocean.

"Ah, a signal. So you did nothing," Claudia said. "I'm sure that's not something you would freely admit, hmm? I'll humiliate you only once more just to obliterate anymore thoughts that this isn't genuine." Her hands slid down her thighs until they rested on her knees, her back arching until her eyes were level with his. "Even now after all you've been through you still consider me beautiful, don't you?"

"On the outside."

"Oh, that was feisty."

"Guess the truth of the matter is you're nothing but a pretty bitch with a new toy."

Rafe picked up a massive chain like it were a python and whipped Jack across the face with it, the links battering his cheekbones.

"That's enough." Claudia held out her arm. "I'll take this as a cue to get down to business. What is your destination?"

He bit his lip, ran his teeth into the delicate flesh until he could taste blood, the clobbering sensation on his head growing stronger.

"Constantinople." Bugger. From the other side of the room, Gibbs threw him a look so full of pity Jack felt like pummeling him for the first time in eight years.

"For the key of Davy Jones?"

"Possibly."

The stinging cold of the heavy chain smacked him again, right into the skin above his jaw.

"What do you mean 'possibly'?"

Grunting out the summary of his search for Captain Falkenburg, he spat blood enunciating some of the letters. One more hit like that and he'd start seeing double, and there was enough of Rafe already. Think, Jack, think. Lie. Even the effort of attempting to conjure one produced another splitting migraine, some unseen force slowly crushing in his head.

"Tell the men to search the _Black Pearl_," she ordered. "Salvage any charts coursed to Constantinople, any documents written in Turkish, anything you can find." Dropping the chain with a deafening clang, Rafe scurried out of the cell.

"Never seen so large a man run so fast," Gibbs said.

"Mr. Gibbs, let's allow Captain Sparrow a brief respite, shall we?" She turned around and stalked towards Gibbs. "Perhaps you can tell me the location of the chest?"

"Oh, the chest! The chest of Davy Jones." He nodded at a frantic pace. "That's in London, that. There's a legend, see, that it was found a few decades back…"

"Is he lying, Captain Sparrow?"

"Yes." Snapping his eyes shut, Jack pulled on the shackles again. Useless, as always. "I'd like to see your head bashed in with one of these, eh? After all this strain, t'would do me a world of good."

"Where is the dead man's chest?"

"I don't know." Smirk more, mate, he willed himself, adoring that auburn eyebrow raised in confusion, a chink in the armor.

"Where is the dead man's chest?" she asked again.

"I don't know."

"But you know how to find it?" Her voice cracked, her unsure eyes practically pleading with his smirk to grow. Marching to him, she cupped his chin. "You will be looking for it if you haven't already started. How did you plan to find the chest of Davy Jones?"

"Magic."

"He's tellin' the truth!" Gibbs shouted just as Claudia drew her arm back to slap him. "His compass. It don't point north, but we always find where we need to go anyway." He shook his head at Jack, his jaw dropping open in apology. "I don't know how it works, but that's what he means, the compass."

"Your compass is magic?"

"Yes."

"So you have used it to find the chest?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"'And' is a conjunction to join words together, usually to describe a succession of steps."

A bare-handed slap across his raw cheek only led to a few surprised blinks.

"You know how to find the chest but do not know where it is…" The tension in her voice mounting, it wouldn't be long before her coiffed manner deteriorated into sheer frustration, Jack noted, preparing himself for the question he knew would follow. "Your compass has stopped working for you…" She nodded to herself, the deduction making perfect sense to her. "Why?" She slapped him again. "What's keeping you from finding it?"

It was the first time he'd heard her scream in…he busied his brain counting the days, assigning a number to each excruciating pound railing down on his head. His lips parted. He bit down on his tongue until his eyes watered, the swelling tears all that could convince him his eyes were open rather than closed, the rest of the room starting to swirl together…

"For God's sake, he don't know!" he heard Gibbs cry. "Just 'cause someone's got something magic don't mean he knows all the mechanics to it! Wouldn't be magic then!"

"Do you know how to use it, Mr. Gibbs?" She ran her fingers over Jack's belt strewn across the chair until she detached the compass.

"Don't know the first thing about it."

She set it in his chained hand and opened it, peering down to catch the arrow settle on the door that led out of the cell.

"Indeed that is not north," she sighed. "Captain Sparrow, why haven't you trained your first mate, the man handpicked by you to take over in the event of your death or incapacitation, on this?"

"Don't…trust…him with it." Bugger. He'd pay for that one. He tore his eyes off Gibbs' pained face. Might as well have taken Beckett's old poker and rammed the pirate brand right between his eyes, he thought. The pressure on his head increased with every thought, every addendum and explanation he needed to say. Nothing personal, mate. I don't trust anyone with it. Don't trust myself with it. I don't share my log with you, either, do I? And you never get broken up about that? Captains aren't even supposed to share their logs with their first mates. Procedure. To give his compass to anyone would be too much like handing over his beating heart to them.

Claudia collapsed into one of the chairs, her hands and hair covering her face. How is it they could feel every bead of sweat on their body and her skin still looked as smooth as fresh cream? Must have made a deal with Lucifer. Springing up, she yanked the compass out of Gibbs' hand and placed it in Jack's.

"When I return, you had better know how to make that work. Otherwise your ship will be set ablaze and everyone imprisoned in it burned alive." She said nothing else and stomped out of the cell.

"I'll tell ye, Jack, I ain't the type to go around striking ladies, but that one…"

"She ain't a lady, Mr. Gibbs," he said to the floor, more unable to meet his eyes than ever.

"We best be gettin' out of here today or they'll be no way to leave. What do ye think…"

"…Please do me the honor of letting me keep what dignity I have left and refrain from asking any questions that might be embarrassing or warrant any unwanted answers…"

"…Come on, Jack! You've been in worse than this! That stuff can't do that to ye forever. Maybe it'll wear off by the time she comes back. I don't suppose you'd be in the mood to try your hand at seducing her?"

"Not in the slightest."

"That's that." Gibbs glanced down and groaned at his paunch. "Jack, if I can get us free, can ye fight?"

Jack flexed his arms as best he could, making and then releasing fists.

"I could shoot. Ye got something?"

"Kick off yer boots and push 'em to me, close as ye can."

All the gears and cogs so well-oiled in his brain were really turned off, he thought, at a complete loss. Not able to throw out questions or offer suggestions, not much more than a wall for Gibbs' ideas to bounce off, he obeyed, swearing at himself, swearing at that devil in an angel's façade for reducing him to this. He'd kill her. Somehow he would be the one to kill her, once he could wake his mind up to plot how.

Gibbs clenched one of the boots with his feet and curled his legs in, heaving all the while until his hand could reach it.

"Can ye squirm out of your trousers, Jack?"

"No…why doesn't the man not obligated to tell the truth be the one to remove more clothes?" He shouldn't have said that, not after the distrust remark, but Gibbs squirmed, shaking his own trousers off until they lay in a heap around his feet. Curling his legs again, he brought them up to his hands, panting. Taking one of the legs, he tied it around the boot. "She shifted the chair when she got up all angry like that. I think I can rope us a pistol or two."

Well, that does make sense, Jack thought, the pressure lifting. Perhaps it was wearing off? Clamping the lid of the compass down before he could see where it pointed, he looked up at Gibbs.

"Test me. Ask me something."

Gibbs tossed the boot, attached to the trousers, and hit one of the chair legs, pulling it a few inches with a screech.

"Ye think the crew's already dead?"

"Nay…same state we're in, only they're without the luxury of piss buckets."

The chair screeched further, the pistol on it inches from thudding to the wooden floor.

"Don't shoot yourself by mistake," Jack warned. "Ask me something I'd want to lie about."

"Miss Elizabeth really burned up all that rum?"

"Every drop." Bugger.

"What a waste…didn't mean it like that. Guess it did save your lives and all, but…it paints a horrid picture."

The pistol dropped. Staring at it, exhausted, Gibbs inhaled and curled his naked legs again, at last bringing it to his hand.

"I think I'm getting better," Jack said.

"Who's your least favorite crewman?" Gibbs tested.

"Cotton's parrot, but I feel no shame in admitting it."

"It'll have to do. Next person comes in, see if ye can get 'em close to you." Gibbs held the pistol by the barrel, reaching over with his other hand to cover the rest of it. "Jack, ye said ye was sixteen when you was first with a woman…how was that?"

"Like I'd bloody tell you." Their exhausted faces locked eyes, the understanding dawning on them. "Finally."

The footsteps outside stopped outside the door, the creaking sound of the bolt unlocking following. One of the men, a dark haired, olive-skinned one, walked in, holding the key ring.

"Captain says she'll be right down."

"Just as well. I'd like to make myself as presentable for her as I can and as of yet have found no way to preen," Jack said, blinking. "I think I've got an eyelash or some such. Make yourself useful and tell me when I've got it out."

"Why do you care about making yourself presentable? I've dumped out your own piss."

"As sophisticated as this conversation has evolved, I do have me pride and this is starting to become painful. Won't ye at least come by and have a look? I've been told I have rather pretty eyes."

Throwing him a disgusted look, the guard rolled his eyes and slouched over to him, his arm resting on the wall, the key ring dangling just above one of Jack's hands.

Gibbs fired. Blood splattered all over the cell, splashing both of them in the face. The bulged, lifeless eyes fell into the wall, the keys dropping right into Jack's hand. Bringing his other hand around, he unlocked the shackle, his stiff arm trembling to his side. The other one did the same, both so weak he could barely lift them. Hobbling to Gibbs, he unlocked his chains. His arms also shook while he wobbled to his trousers. Crawling to his boots, Jack slipped them on while he reached for his hat. They dressed in silence, afraid if they applied any extra energy to anything they would faint.

"We'll shoot whoever stands between us and the longboat out of here. I've reloaded so that gives us…" Gibbs said, dusting himself off, pistol ready. "Jack?"

Slipping back onto the floor, Jack recalled a few evenings in Tortuga, mocking men so inebriated they needed friends on either side to carry them out, all the grace of a newborn foal. The stings and throbs from every whip pushed him back to the ground.

"I got ye." Hoisted up, Jack leaned against Gibbs, focusing on the wrist and fingers that controlled his pistol rather than the fact he was being all but dragged out the door. They bobbed their heads around, scanning what was already a blurry corridor to them for anyone. Trotting to the main door, Gibbs squeezed Jack harder.

"Stop right there or I'll…"

Gibbs fired before the guard could finish his threat and flung open the door, the river lazily flowing just ahead of them towards the rocky caves. The longboat swayed, tied off onto a stumpy pier.

Just about to loosen the line, Jack saw Gibbs plummet to the planks of the pier, Claudia on top of him. With all his strength, Jack rammed her, taking her down with him, a knot of arms and legs. With no more thought than a wild dog jerking around its prey by the jugular, he pinned her, forcing her flat beneath him. Kill. Kill. Kill. She blurred, her eyes and features popping out until he could see her and a ghost of her. Kill her now. Seeing her four eyes react to the barrel of his pistol in her throat, he struggled to grin and then fired.

"Get in the boat. Get in the boat!" Gibbs yelled to him, hurling himself into the longboat. Pausing to look into those sapphire eyes, wondering if now they really were seeing Lucifer, he let himself fall into the boat, rowing with everything he had, hearing the footfalls and bellowing of the late Captain Engel's crew behind them.

"We're almost through to the cave, Jack!" Gibbs cried, pointing to the shadowy engulfment ahead of them. "We've lost 'em. All's that's left is to free the men and set sail." He patted his back. "We'll make it. We'll make it yet."

Head bobbing, eyes starting to roll back, Jack couldn't place how he went from the longboat onto the deck, or how he and Gibbs managed to dodder to the brig. He could feel a few hands half-drag, half-carry him back up, opening the cabin door for him.

"Do we have a heading?" Marty asked.

"I know a place around here," he heard Gibbs answer as they laid him onto his bed. "Take us out of here and set a course for Dorset. Jack, can ye hear me? You're back on the _Pearl_ now. She was waiting for us. Welcome home."

It was all Jack needed to hear before everything went black.

* * *

**A/N: Wanted Jack and Gibbs to sing "Greensleeves" for so long and now they got a chance to do it, only I had always pictured it under better circumstances. I don't own the song. Also wanted to give Gibbs a badass chapter since I love him. I know this was a quick update, but don't get used to this. Tomorrow I will be 25 years old, so I posted this shamefully in hopes I would receive some reviews as presents. Chapter 16 probably won't be posted for at least a week, week and a half. Thanks to everyone who has left a review and/or have "favorited" the story.**


	16. Chapter 16

163 Days Before

Alone in the sitting room, Elizabeth sat curled up in one of the high-backed armchairs with one of the long windows opened, listening to the gentle rushing of the waves outside. They churned in time with the ticking of the clock, its spindly hands reminding her in spite of the dark, it was two hours into a new day. With a shawl hanging off her shoulders and her slippers on, the cool night wafting into the darkness didn't bother her, although she was at a loss as to what did. She had repeated this pattern for over a week, creeping down the stairs after tossing and turning for hours, only to sit in this chair and listen to the ocean until she was too groggy to keep her eyes open.

The last three nights in particular overwhelmed her, so sure something was wrong that the first night, she'd leapt back up the stairs and lurked in her father's chambers, not breathing until she heard his slow exhales from the threshold of his room. Pacing, she'd snuck back down the stairs again and around the back to the servants' quarters to ask Perkins if she could borrow his clothes to run into town to check on Will.

Last night she'd written her aunts and uncles in England, doubting any trouble that might have befallen them would have been the cause for her distress, but it never hurt. With the stationary still out, she'd written a letter to James and left it with Lieutenant Groves at the fort.

_Dear James,_

_I could scarcely blame you if you tore my letter apart without a second thought, but I pray you don't, as I never meant to hurt you and still long for the intimacy we had before your proposal. You have graced me with so many pleasant moments they are beyond count, and your fine teachings in the ways of sailing awakened a deep love for the sea that had previously been lying dormant in vague fascination. As such, I cannot pinpoint when your feelings for me changed, as I had always regarded you as an elder brother. That is all my heart can give you. Come back to us. Sincerely, Elizabeth._

It had taken hours at the table to pen a letter that would take him seconds to read, she'd scoffed, her fingers pressing into her forehead, contemplating if it was worth the trouble.

"Heard from him not long ago, Miss Swann," Groves had said after he promised to deliver the letter to him. "He was going to be crossing the Atlantic and wouldn't be able to correspond for some time. Don't worry. He's a cautious fellow, James, I mean, Commodore Norrington. He's not one to put his men at unnecessary risk."

That left only one more person for her to worry over, and Elizabeth found great irony in the fact that it was also the most inconvenient person to worry over. Alone without the lamps lit, she traced the blossom on the ring, the pad of her finger memorizing every hard groove and peak. Touching it allowed herself to think, affirming the idea that if Jack had been caught, she would have heard about it. After hearing crime after crime rattled off at his hanging, his capture would be on the lips of every last one of the king's subjects. James and probably several others would receive commendations and they would return to Port Royal heroes.

But there were others, she thought, her mouth wrinkling into a grim frown. Other pirates wouldn't make things so official. Neither would a hurricane or some spectacular twist of fate only Jack could find himself in.

Twisting a lock of her hair, she shook her head and snorted at herself, the advice "neither a borrower nor a lender be" coming to mind. Polonius himself wasn't nearly as foolish as she felt she was, borrowing her life from Jack and now lending out all these thoughts, feelings…feelings? Shake that off, girl. You think you're the only one who's felt she meant more to Jack than she actually did? In some far off land, there was probably a young woman doing the exact same thing she was, sitting alone and thinking of a man who would never come for her, never give her a second thought. Her nails dug into the arms of the chair, ready to tear them into shreds.

Who cares if he doesn't think about you? You're engaged. You have a wonderful life here that is only going to get better and besides, it's not as if you're in love with him…you're not, are you?

She shook her head at a violent pace. Of course not. A few thoughts sprinkled here and there, a few dreams she had no control over, meant nothing in the long run, couldn't compare to the facts. She'd known Will nearly all her life. She would protect Will at any cost. She would marry him and be his wife and be perfectly content to do so. As far as her life was concerned, that was the happiest scenario allotted to her and there was nothing, no one, that could promise more.

* * *

"You look ready to drop."

"I didn't sleep well, Father," she said, damning the rules of etiquette and placing her elbows on the table to hold her head.

"I say, you're not coming down with anything, are you?" He reached across the table and placed his hand on her forehead. "You feel normal, and you devoured your breakfast." He took her plate with only a few scattered crumbs on it and handed it off to Rhoda for her. "Do you have any plans for today?"

She shook her head, trying to envision sheep jumping hurdles.

"You ought to go back up and lie down. Stay home today, don't receive any visitors. The maids will keep you company if you like." He swallowed. "I believe I know what's troubling you."

"You do?" she asked, interrupting thoughts of how good it would feel to take her hair down, her shoes off, and relax in her room, reading being the most vigorous item on her schedule.

"The day is almost here, and I can't imagine what you must be going through, planning a wedding without your mother."

The seventh of November was indeed approaching, she thought, nine years without her mother to the day. She wondered if her mother would have even had the gall to listen to her after she would confide in her the nature of her sleepless nights. Biting her lip, she felt a few tears prickle and stream down her cheeks.

"There, there, my dear. I miss her, too." Governor Swann rose from his chair and knelt beside hers and gathered her in his arms.

"She wouldn't even want to speak to me now," she whispered, desperate to control her voice. Telling pirate stories and singing pirate songs was one thing…even entertaining the thought of caring for one was grounds for committal to the nearest asylum.

"I highly doubt that," he said. "She would be so proud of you, how you've handled everything you've been through, the lady that you've become." He took her chin and tilted her face up to kiss her forehead. "How could she not speak to someone who is just like her?" He waited for her to smile between sniffles. "I'm so sorry I have to leave you today, but I'll be staying at home with you that day. What do you think about renting a ship for an hour or two?"

"A ship?"

"Yes. A small one, of course. I can't think of any better way to honor Ca—your mother than by spending some time on the sea. She loved it, you know, would have relished the thought of making the long journey here."

"You don't know how to sail."

"That's why I said a small one, dear. I'll want Captain Swann talking me through it." He kissed her again and rose, motioning for Fisher to bring him his coat and hat. "I want you to stay home today, Elizabeth. Don't strain yourself. Try to rest. I'll be back this evening."

* * *

_Little pink legs scissor-kicked their way into the surf, stopping to bend over and stick both palms into the water. Catherine brought her fist up to her mouth and coughed out a laugh as her daughter's whole body shivered and ran back to cling to her skirts with just as quick a pace._

_"I take it it's cold?" She mimicked the intense, solemn nod below her. "Well, Elizabeth, I suppose we'll just have to go somewhere else for our walk…"_

_"No!" Her fingers shoved their way between her own and the little three-year-old pulled her mother further towards the surf. The sky took on a hue close to white; the water that unruffled out onto the hem of Catherine's skirt was, in fact, not exactly swimming temperature. But she barely noticed, unable to take her eyes off those little stubby legs waddling from one half-buried seashell to another, her footprints running through the beach like a lace through a corset._

_Elizabeth came bounding back to her with something in her hand. Pursing her lips together and expecting a cut hand on a jagged broken shell, she held out her palm and waited for the little girl to plunk the object into it._

_"Treasure is to be shared, little bird," she warned. Elizabeth held out a spiraled shell, completely intact and, thank God, emptied. Its blue and pink stripes held Catherine's gaze._

_"Like your dress," Elizabeth said._

_"Like my…yes, it is." She smoothed down the soft royal blue skirt of her dress. _

_"For you."_

_"For me? Aren't you sweet," she breathed, kneeling down and collecting her child in her arms. Little hands reached around her neck. Sparkling brown eyes so large and full of curiosity danced. She had always despised mothers who pinched their little one's cheeks, but now she couldn't resist, taking hold of both rosy, full cheeks with one hand and kissing the soft skin between Elizabeth's eyebrows. The effect that she'd first noticed when Elizabeth was two months old was still alive and well—the girl's eyelids came down to half-mast with a slightly dazzled expression every time she was kissed between the eyes. _

_"Come, Elizabeth." She took her by the hand and walked with her down the shoreline, a few gulls cawing by above them. The rushing waves in the distance set a slow rhythm. _

_"O take me in your arms, love/For keen doth the wind blow/O take me in your arms, love/For bitter is my deep woe," she caught herself singing in time to the sea. Smiling down at Elizabeth's intrigued face, she swung their held hands forward and back. "She hears me not/She heeds me not/Nor will she listen to me/While here I lie alone/To die beneath the willow tree."_

_Clearing her throat, the top of her tongue washed over her front teeth while she settled on something a little less melancholy. Sad how most songs were. At last, they turned around and began the second half of their trek, back to the house._

_"Tired?"_

_Elizabeth shook her head, rubbing her eyes and blowing a bit of hair out of them. It would have been quite entertaining to ask, "are you sure," but instead, she hoisted her up and let her head rest on her shoulder. Patting the back of her head, Catherine lowered her voice to just above a whisper, matching the ever-setting sun behind them._

_"Once upon a time, little bird, there was a man named Samuel Bellamy, treasure hunter."_

_"I'm a treasure hunter, too," Elizabeth said, popping up her head and then laying it back down, making her mother jump._

_"Yes, but unlike yourself, he had no success. Bad enough to be a man with no success, he had already met his love and no man wants to feel undeserving of his lady, so he resorted to piracy. And my, the legends he encountered, a crewman on the Mary Anne with Blackbeard himself. But all legends meet their match eventually, little bird, and it was not long before Captain Sam had the Mary Anne to himself. But he was a good man, too, you see, not one for bloodshed. After accumulating quite the fleet, he sacked the Whydah and pillaged every last inch of it, all three hundred tons of her. So instead of leaving the captain of the Whydah with nothing, he traded him one of his own ships. Of course it was smaller than the Whydah. A pirate that is a good man is still a pirate."_

_Pausing in her ramblings to gaze down at the little face she adored, she pulled down on the bunched-up material of her sleeve to catch her daughter's long brown eyelashes splayed out in sleep._

_There was no need for her to know the rest, that Captain Sam's ship was ravaged by a storm at sea, leaving only nine men alive…none of which was the Captain, and Catherine herself did not know if the authorities gave his beloved the courtesy to inform her of his death or if she learned of it through the local gossip once the surviving crewmen were hanged._

_"O take me in your arms, love/For keen doth the wind blow/O take me in your arms, love/For bitter is my deep woe," she sang out loud before dissolving the rest of the song into a strained hum._

Shutting her mother's memoirs, told humorously in third-person, Elizabeth stuffed the diary back into the compartment underneath her bedside table.

"We kindle and char/inflame and ignite/Drink up, me hearties, yo ho/We burn up the city/We're really a fright/Drink up, me hearties, yo ho/Yo ho, yo ho/A pirate's life for me," she sang in a low voice.

* * *

**A/N: The song Elizabeth's mother sings is called "The Willow Tree" and once again, thank you, Popular Songs in American History website! I don't know if back then a lieutenant would have been in charge of a whole fort, so if it doesn't seem logical, maybe Groves is just that outstanding an officer! Captain Sam Bellamy was a real pirate. If you would like to know a little bit more about Elizabeth's mother, please read "The Pirate in Her," or "Love's Conspiracies."**


	17. Chapter 17

163 Days Before

_"Do you love me?"_

_Straddling his lap, her lips inches away, he should have guessed Lizzie wouldn't play fair. He should have guessed also she would come right to the point, her blunt words a sharp contrast from her half-lidded eyes._

_"I don't know."_

_Her palms glided over his chest while she tossed her hair over onto one shoulder, exposing a long thin neck so smooth and taintless he itched to claim it. _

_"How could you not know?"_

_"It's a might easy to not know, darling." Running his fingers through her hair, he bent his head down and kissed her jawbone, letting his lips droop down at a lazy pace to graze her neck. Hearing her sigh at the contact elicited one from his own mouth. About to growl out her name and take her, he sat stunned when she broke away._

_"Do you love me?"_

_"I told you I don't know." It took more effort to not attach "love" at the beginning or end of his sentences._

_She snuggled back into him, bringing his hand up to her mouth and suckling on his fingers. His whole body hardened in spite of his insides melting at the touch. Forcing more of his weight on her, he leaned her back and stroked her leg, pushing her skirt up to her knee._

_"Could you love me?" Her leg wrapped around his waist, emitting such a heat he felt it would burn off his shirt._

_"You know I could, love," he said, losing himself, registering nothing but her hand guiding his off her thigh and closer to a place where he would lose all control if he touched it. _

_"Not good enough," she laughed, throwing her head back in such a way he ached to see her do it again…and again and again._

_"What would be good enough?"_

_"Your undying love."_

_He kissed her, keeping his eyes open so as to memorize every detail of her face. She held him to her and he decided to brave it all. His hand moved further up her body and brushed against…_

_It was the most entrancing shudder he'd ever seen._

_"What's keeping you from saying it?" she asked in a breathless gasp. She threw her head back at his motions, her hair a corona. _

_"I don't know that I can say it."_

_"Even if I said it first?"_

_"Oh, Lizzie, especially if you said it first." He massaged her hairline with his other hand, unable to do anything when she propped herself up, still so obviously enjoying what he was doing to her. Her eyes locked with his and he prayed she didn't ask it again, feeling her drain away his will, making him hers even though he was physically making her his._

_"I love you, Jack." _

* * *

Something cold and wet slapped his forehead, snapping Jack's eyes open, only to blink away the invading rays of sunlight seeping through the windows of a small bedroom. Cocooned in sheets, he drew in a sharp inhale at the sensation of the cold compress again. On his stomach, the fluffiness of the pillow covering one of his eyes, he inspected the woman hovering over him, dabbing the cloth back into a bowl of water. Mid-sixties, he guessed. Precious little that assessment did, he thought.

"Oh! Hello." She paused and held the soaking cloth at her knees. "It's all right. Just stay still. Just a cold compress is all."

My bandana is off, was all he could process, feeling the cool water on his forehead and temple. Scrunching his nose at the contact, he panned the room and spotted it folded on the seat of a rocking chair. Folded?

"My name is Flora, one of Josh's sisters," she said.

Josh? Josh…Gibbs, idiot. Only your savior Gibbs.

"Your ship's docked just outside," Flora continued, pulling back the sheets and laying the cloth on his bare back. "We've, my husband and I, that is, have got us quite a bit of land that sits right on the coast here. Makes it nice when we have family by, can be as loud as we want and not upset anyone." She gave a nasally laugh and pulled the sheets back further, exposing more bare skin. Jack groaned and tried to kick up the sheets with his leg.

"Oh please, dearie. It's nothing I haven't already seen. They roughed you up something fierce, they did, and ruffians aren't known to show any modesty. Not that you'd know it, but I've been doing this for the last three days. You've been in and out, in and out…wouldn't expect you to know nothing in all that time. But you're safe now, dearie. Josh just thinks the world of ye and it's a pleasure to meet you. A real honor."

The door creaked open and Jack winced at the energy it took to crook his head in that direction. A small girl tottered over to Flora and held her leg, her head inches above the bed.

"Dear me! Out, Sally. Find Grandpa." She gave the girl a playful spank. "Would you believe this is the week my daughter and her husband came by to visit? Don't worry. This is their youngest. Sally. They've been such good helpers, they have, feeding your men and mending your ship."

"You're hosting a lot of guests," Jack whispered, his mouth too feeble to do much else.

"Not really, considering. Would you believe I have seven children and nineteen grandchildren?" She laughed again. "I'm used to it, though. Why, I'm sure Josh has told you we come from a big family ourselves. I'm just the third sister. There's ten of us altogether, him and Mark the only boys. Yes, sir, at least Mark has a few children, carry on the name. His oldest's wife is expecting…due sometime in February, I think."

"Eighteen more to go," Jack whispered again, feeling her pull the sheets back up over him.

"There's that tongue I've heard so much about!" Flora tussled his hair as if he were a child. "Josh writes all the time. Did I mention he thinks the world of you?"

"Flo, I was mindin' Sally and…Jack!" Gibbs hurried in and stood over the bed, his arm around his sister. "Nice to see you, finally." He lifted the little girl and sat her on the bed inches from Jack's arm. "Two years old and what a beauty. I hope ye don't mind. They was nearby and ye can't pass up a chance to see family, even under the circumstances." He turned back to Flora. "We go way back, Jack and I. I knew this daft genius ever since he was twenty-seven years old, ye believe that?"

"How old are you now, dearie?"

As if he could feel any more like a child, Jack thought.

"Thirty-six this April," he whispered in an even lower voice. Sally turned in his direction and patted his chin.

"You sure are a handsome one," she said. "You should be up and about very soon, I should think. Sally, give him some air now." She picked her up and held her against her hip. "Joshee, ye know better."

Gibbs blushed at the name, giving Jack some satisfaction.

"Now," Flora continued. "Ye saw him. Now out with ye. He needs his rest, he does. Scoot! Take the baby. Don't let her go back on that ship!"

Jack's eyebrows narrowed as he watched the little girl grab Gibbs by the hand and lead him back out to the rest of the house. He gazed up at Flora, wondering if he looked as helpless as he felt.

"The baby was on the ship?"

"Nothin' to worry about, dearie. She was just runnin' up and down the deck, and fallin' of course. Your crew took to her. There's something about children that brings out men's gentleness, I think," she sighed. "Once you're better you'll fall in love with her, too."

"How long did dear Josh say we were staying?" He flopped onto his side.

"Oh, just till you're up and about, a spring back in your step." She patted his covered leg. "Shouldn't take too long. I was a nurse back on a ship when I was younger. Can you imagine? That was a hard life, that was."

"Your brother thinks it's bad luck having women onboard," Jack said.

"I'm sure my adventures didn't help that much. But when ye get a chance to see the world and such…got me hooks into a sailing man at any rate, been married forty-five years. See if you can sit up."

Propping himself up on his elbows, his body fell back onto the headboard, head drooping down onto a shoulder. Bugger, it felt like he had just built the bloody Pyramids.

"Ye need to take some water. Drink this down for me. That's it. In a few hours we'll try some food. I bet in no time you'll be starving. My husband betted me you'd eat us out of house and home faster than all your men put together." She laughed, the sound of which Jack was beginning to like, which begged the question as to whether or not he was delirious. "Now, ye should be getting some rest, but we have a few books that can be brought in if ye like, got some drawing pencils and paper if ye do that sort of thing. I'll bring a few things in."

She started for the door, but turned back suddenly just as Jack was lowering himself back down onto the mattress.

"I was going to ask…"

"Ask away," he whispered, closing his eyes, eager to revisit dream Lizzie and see if she'd take pity on him in his weakened state.

"Who's Lizzie?"

Bugger. His eyes snapped open again. Bugger, bugger, bugger!

"What?"

"You'd asked for Lizzie a few times, said you missed her."

Rolling his tongue around in his mouth, he fought off the urge to bang his head on the night table next to him.

"Must have been delirium," he said, sinking deeper into the bed.

"I didn't ask around, just so ye know," Flora said, holding her arm with a sheepish smile. "Didn't think it would do any good seein' as no one else mentioned her. Josh never mentioned ye having a girl. Is she a sister?"

No, but that would have been a smarter thing to have said, he thought, glancing back at the night table, wondering if one swift bang or a series of mediocre ones would bring on unconsciousness faster.

"If ye know where she lives, I could write her and tell her you're doing much better…"

"No need, Mrs.…"

"Smith, dearie. Mrs. Theophilus Smith…just call him Phil when ye get around to meetin' him. He's out helping your boys with the _Black Pearl. _I'll be back in a little while. Try to rest now."

Jack waited until she left before stretching his arm out towards his compass, laying on the far end of the night table with his pistol, his coat and hat hung over the rocking chair. Heaving at the weight of his own arm, he shrugged off the pain long enough to flip up the lid and glance down at the arrow.

Bugger.

* * *

162 Days Before

"Rock?"

Sally pulled on his sash tied around his belt again, pointing at the rocking chair.

"Ready for bed already?"

She nodded, rubbing her eye and extending her arms up, expecting to be appeased. Jack picked her up and fell back into the rocker, ready to once again count the flowers on the wallpaper on the wall across from him, checking to see if the number had changed between yesterday and today. Sally laid her head on his shoulder and flattened her arms out over his chest. Patting her honey-colored hair, he felt her starting to go limp in his arms. Indeed she had been tired.

"Yo ho/Yo ho/A pirate's life for me," he sang in a hushed voice, more to himself. There existed a good number of people who would have paid admission to see him sitting in an actual house rocking a little tot to sleep, he laughed. He began to pity them all that they would never know, never experience that gut-busting belly laugh. Humming the rest of the song, his mind ran through the last few months, speculating as to whether Barbossa had ever repaid a nurse by putting her granddaughter to bed for her. The idea of that man holding a baby was…about as absurd as the idea of himself holding one.

"I can take her to her crib for ye," he heard from the doorway. Gibbs entered, looking the picture of domestic contentment, Jack thought, all the hearty meals, inside jokes, and lively conversation apparent on his face.

"A few minutes more, mate. I don't think she's fully out," Jack lied, not sure why. Gibbs sat on the foot of the bed. Silence permeated throughout the small bedroom. Sally shifted her weight in her sleep, almost prompting Jack to speak. "Mr. Gibbs."

"Aye?"

"Ye had it right. We've known each other a long time," he said with pursed lips.

"Aye."

"And," Jack cleared his throat. "I suppose in that time, we've learned certain truths about each other." He noticed Gibbs' forehead knitting. "If tested, I should think there are a plethora of facts we could recite about the other, even some said other might not have ever revealed."

"I 'spect that's true, but…where are ye going with this, Jack?"

"Ye probably know some things about me I wouldn't want others to know. Is that right?" Try Lizzie's way, blunt, he told himself.

"That be right."

"But ye don't know everything," he said quickly. "But what ye do know, whether I told ye or not…I trust ye with it." He nodded, smiling at the glimmer of understanding on Gibbs' face, the polar opposite from the hurt on his face when he'd heard his own captain hadn't trusted him with the compass. "Ye know, Mr. Gibbs, I saw how surprised you were when you learned I'd only ever murdered two people, one of which was Barbossa. The other was a pirate, member of me father's crew. He'd come to our house, invading it, ready to kill me mum and me if necessary…long story there. There were two of them and me mum was making short work of one inside, but I didn't know it. I was outside and the other one snuck up on me. Had me knife." He tensed his hand, gripping a knife that wasn't there, the memory of the fluid movement returning to him. "Slit the poor sot right in the throat, dead before he hit the ground. I was eleven, Mr. Gibbs, and spent the rest of the day and that night cryin' in me mum's arms." He paused to look up at him. "That ain't the sort of thing I'd like becoming common knowledge. Savvy? Of course, now the number is three."

Gibbs sat so still Jack wondered if the one-time confiding had been a mistake, but he nodded, still soaking up the information, weaving it into a tale no one would ever hear.

"Why didn't ye tell me ye had eight sisters, Mr. Gibbs?"

"Well, the way ye are with the ladies…" Gibbs shuffled his feet together and laughed under his breath, Jack joining him. "Who could blame me?"

"Don't tell me you and your brother were numbers nine and ten?"

"No, no. He's sixth. I'm seventh. Had another brother, briefly. Would have been number eleven. When he died, he took our mum with him. Yes, that, that was a hard blow, especially to Dad, ye know, ten kids, eight of them girls, needing fed. Didn't ever get a stepmum until I was 'bout sixteen. I never told ye this, but his name was Jack. That's what they'd decided, if it was a boy. So we each went out and tried to find presents, ye know, and I found this little toy bear, nothing special, just soft and small for wee hands to cuddle, the way she's cuddling you there. I held onto that bear for a long time, finally gave it to my first nephew." Gibbs sighed and placed his hands on his thighs. "Well, like ye said, ye know quite a few things, and some ye don't, and I trust ye with what ye got. I think she's ready for that crib now."

Jack pushed back some of Sally's hair and let himself kiss it in front of Gibbs before handing her off, rocking back and forth in the chair with the lamps off even after Gibbs had left the room, suddenly craving Elizabeth's arms, not her kisses, strangely, but her arms around his neck, staying quiet just long enough for him to hold her and breathe out against her, taking comfort in the fact it was a place he could never fail to find solace.

* * *

**A/N: There is some significance to two of Gibbs' relatives' names. Flora is named after Florencia7…hope you liked having someone so warm sharing your name! Also, I have to explain why Gibbs' brother's name is Mark, which is going to sound a bit like playing the Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon game. Mark Gibbs is the only one who continues the Gibbs family line, and in present-day, his descendant is none other than Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs on my favorite show of all time, _NCIS_, and Gibbs is played by MARK Harmon.**


	18. Chapter 18

156 Days Before

"O, my love is like a red, red rose/That's newly sprung in June/O, my love is like a melody/That's sweetly played in tune."

Elizabeth and Governor Swann paused at the entrance to the stable, exchanging stupefied looks. She brought a finger to her lips and gestured with her other hand for them to stay motionless.

"As fair art thou, my bonny lass/So deep in love am I/And I will love thee still, my dear/Till all the seas gang dry/Till…horses like it," Perkins coughed, clearing his throat. "You'd be up for some music too if ye lived to carry people around all the time." He spun around, shuffling some hay, and took a bridle down off a peg. "The carriage is ready, sir, just finishing preparin' the horses…"

"As sure as I am they would like an encore performance, Perkins, Elizabeth and I are on a schedule today," Governor Swann said, Elizabeth letting out a hearty laugh.

"Right, sir."

"Who's your bonny lass, Perkins?" she asked.

"It's just a song, miss."

"Even though you'll love her 'till the rocks melt with the sun?'"

Perkins waited for Governor Swann to step outside towards the carriage, his face still flushed.

"Respectfully, miss, I do have a hankering to tell ye to shut it." Her laugh incited one from him. He shook his head at her and led the way to the carriage, helping her in before mounting the horse.

* * *

"This is breathtaking, Elizabeth."

"Isn't it?"

The _Kitty Marie _glided along the long strip of coast, so narrow it seemed to Elizabeth that Port Royal was reaching back for them, one last attempt to pull them back. Bundled up in several scarves and Perkins' tri-corner hat, she flung one over the hat and tied off the ends underneath her chin to cover her ears, the crisp wind bombarding them. The sails ruffled above her.

"Quite the day for it, hmm?" her father asked, huddled close to her near the helm.

"I can feel it through my gloves." Flimsy gloves that trapped her hands in their own perspiration at balls, they now let the wind blow right through them.

The early morning hours combined with the overcast sky encased the ship in a soft violet light. Shivering, she took her father's arm and placed it on the helm.

"No, no, you go on, dear. I can't."

"Yes, you can. Try. Just guide her around. It's easy."

Elizabeth scampered to the rail and grabbed the rigging with both hands, her coattails, scarves, and hair flapping behind her. Hoisting herself up onto the ledge, she tilted her chin up to the sun with closed eyes, sensing. Letting go of the rigging with one hand, she lifted her arm and let the sleeve of the coat billow. Little bird. Mother's little bird. She opened her eyes to witness two of the larger clouds break away, allowing a thin outline of sunlight to peek through them. Inhaling the brisk air, she turned her head to catch her arm almost gliding on the gusts of its own free will. A wing, she thought, gazing back out at the sky.

"My God, it's beautiful."

Her father's voice beckoned her out of the atmosphere and back onto the ship. She followed his line of vision to see the last remains of Port Royal silhouetted against the enormous purple clouds, tears in his eyes. She leapt off the railing and back to the helm, wedging herself between it and him, her arm around his back. He squeezed her back, Elizabeth noticing one hand on the helm.

"See? You're a natural at this."

"Your mother would have so loved to come out here and learned this," he sighed.

Elizabeth said nothing, fearing her voice would warble out nothing but sobs if she spoke.

* * *

_"Tell me a story."_

_In the pitch black room, the canopy surrounding them, Elizabeth imagined the large bed into an island with little difficulty. _

_"You should be in your own bed," he father coughed, clearing his throat after her every sentence. _

_"No!" She burrowed into the covers and let her face fall into the pillow. "Not yet. I can still smell her." Her mother's pillow held traces of perfume and the outdoors._

_"Elizabeth, dear sweet little Elizabeth." She felt her father pat her back. "I know it's not easy, but it's highly irregular for…what kind of story?"_

_"Pirates," she said to the darkness. "Mother knew so much about pirates. Did you know that pirates flow long red pennants from their yardarms? That's to show deadly intent. It's called 'No quarter.' Doesn't that just sound frightening?"_

_"Yes," he said, chuckling a fraction, as if recalling some past memory. _

_"So a pirate story then?"_

_"Very well. Once upon a time, far from here, where the air smells like sugarcane and nearly every port is crawling with pirates, there was a young pirate named Elizabeth Swann and she commanded eighty men twice her age and twice her size."_

_Elizabeth laughed into the pillow._

_"One day, when the pickings were slim, the men formed a line and the first mate said, 'Captain Elizabeth, we would very much like pierced ears just like what you have.' When she inquired as to the reason, he answered, 'Because your earrings are very pretty.'"_

_"Father," Elizabeth interrupted. "That wouldn't be why. Sailors are very supersis…superstitious. Some of them think wearing silver and gold will improve their eyesight."_

_"Oh," he cleared his throat again. "Well, once Captain Elizabeth knew the real reason, she whipped out her cutlass…"_

_"Jian."_

_"What's that?"_

_"I want a Chinese sword. It's supposed to be the sword of wisdom."_

_"Oh. She whipped out her jian and so carefully pricked their earlobes, the brave ones not yelping at the contact. Soon everyone had a hole in both their ears and it was time to raid a town for the shiniest earrings that could be found. No town is a match for Captain Elizabeth and her cutthroat crew and in less than two hours all the men sported dazzling gold and silver earrings, and you know, I think the very next day their vision improved."_

_Elizabeth laughed and fingered her own earlobes, the naked hole in each one now coveted scars amongst the pirate world._

_"Elizabeth." She felt his arm on her back again. "Please go to your own room. I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere."_

_"Father…" She reached over and threw her arms around his neck._

_"You can do this. You're the bravest girl I know." He returned her embrace. "I'll always be right here, Elizabeth."_

* * *

Peeling the apples with Rhodain the kitchen, listening to her clank the sugar and cinnamon onto the table, Elizabeth licked her chapped lips and inspected the white flakes of skin around her knuckles. Warm apple cobbler and a steamy bath in her near future, she smiled to herself.

"There's six months left before the wedding, ye know, miss," Rhoda said, shoving an apple core to the side. "No need to stay in a cramped kitchen and put a strain on yourself."

"I'm comfortable, thank you," she said.

"Well, if you change your mind…it is really best for one person to really be in the kitchen at one time. It's easy for things to get a might jumbled, especially if someone doesn't know what they're doing."

"I agree. I've grown to pity anyone who doesn't know their way around a kitchen." She rolled her eyes and grimaced at Rhoda.

"Very well, miss."

"Miss Elizabeth?" Estrella burst into the kitchen, her skin a glowing pink, long strands of her jet black hair loosened out of her cap. "Might I have a word with ye, miss?"

"Of course. Rhoda's been hinting she wants me gone anyway." Finishing off the last apple, Elizabeth set the knife on the table and huffed back to the main part of the house with Estrella, the latter scurrying faster than a mouse. They stopped at the sitting room.

"May we sit down?"

"What's all this about? Why do you look so excited?" They sat across from each other on the sofa, Estrella craning her neck, eyes on the door.

"Well, miss, with only six months before the big day, I felt the need to ask you…" She made addled circles with her wrists. "It's probably too bold a thing to say…miss, you've…you know what to expect, don't you?"

"You mean about being married?"

"I mean, I mean a certain part of being married, miss, the part that begins on the wedding night." Shooting her a timorous smile, Estrella bowed her head and stared at the cushion.

"Oh." Elizabeth blushed, staring at her cushion and picking at the small button sewn into it. Decidedly too bold, she should say. Since when does a maid think that is any way to speak to her lady, casting all decorum to the side? "I know how a baby is made. My mother told me that, and I once saw one of the foals being born, but, other than that, no. Do, do you know?"

"I can only hope you won't think less of me, miss, but I do know what it is to be with a man." Estrella wrung her hands, but her eyes slowly lifted. "I can tell you, if you like."

"I've heard it hurts."

"The first few times, that's not too far off from the truth, miss…"

* * *

**A/N: I do not own "My Love is Like a Red, Red Rose," just find it pleasant. **


	19. Chapter 19

149 Days Before

"So there we were, the _Black Pearl _so close we could just leap across decks, only the _Interceptor_'s takin' on water at a mighty bad rate, Will trapped below decks ransacking the debris for the medallion. But Barbossa was an unyielding sort, and an undead sort, if you'll remember. So…he'd ordered his crew to collect us, 's if us ourselves were the spoils of the battle. Looks about hopeless, it does, the _Interceptor _blown to bits, our captain captured right along with us, our sailin' lass tossed to their crew like she was chops…all there was left was to wonder if we'd be killed or made parts of the crew. But just then…we heard a voice that sounded like it came from above. The lad's got a talent for escaping, that Will Turner, and it's a good thing because he's the one they want. So turnin' his own pistol on himself, he manages to match Barbossa step for step, or seems to. That manipulatin' cur, ye know what Barbossa did next?"

"Your new friend has barely been able to squeeze a word in," Jack said, strolling to the table and placing a tensed hand on Gibbs' shoulder.

"That's all right, sir. It's a good story." The man's large, long-lashed eyes and enthralled countenance gave off a stench of innocence. He grinned, revealing two large front teeth.

"Most are when the teller has had as much as this one." Jack tightened his grip on Gibbs' shoulder, feeling him beginning to sway back and forth.

"You know," Gibbs continued, wagging an unsure finger. "When we heard tell there was a town in this country called Brest, we just had to come to it. Brest! In France!"

"I'm sure it doesn't mean 'breast' in their language, sir," the young man said, casting his eyes down at the grainy table, waving away one of the barmaids hovering over him to refill his drink.

"Hello. _Bonjour_." Gibbs flashed her a vacant smile. Straightening his back a little, no doubt proud of his sudden mastery of the language, Jack speculated, he turned back to his one-man audience. "The thing about French women is…come here. It's a secret and I'm only tellin' it to ye because I like ye." He waited for the young man to lean across the table to him. "Brest!"

"All right then." Jack patted his back and began to pull him to his feet.

"We're going?"

"There's a limit to how many times one can utter 'Brest.' I thought you knew."

"You, sir, you're Captain Jack?"

That certainly depended on who wanted to know, Jack thought, maneuvering around Gibbs to face the fresh-faced youth in rags that could as easily be one of Norrington's men in disguise as a merchant sailor stopping at port, the lack of any French accent unsettling.

"I ask because he mentioned you were looking for the key and chest…you know what I'm talking about…_the _key and chest?"

"Mr. Gibbs, you'll be resuming your seat." Jack lowered him back down into his chair where he rocked a little, giggling at the motion. Taking the seat next to him, Jack looked across at the man, keeping one hand under the table on his pistol.

"Name's Captain Robert Main. Call me Rob."

"You're a bit young to be a captain, son."

"Are we going to talk about that, or are we going to talk about the fact that your first mate here says you're going after the key of Davy Jones while I've been looking for the chest of Davy Jones for the better part of a year?"

_In vino veritas_, Jack thought to himself, casting a disciplinary glance at Gibbs, who looked like he was putting all his weight on his thick elbows, fumbling for his drink. Jack lifted it and placed it in the center of the table, ignoring Gibbs' brief frustration, knowing he would be passed out within the hour.

"Why don't you start that intriguing conversation…Rob?"

"I'm just throwing it out there on the table that maybe we could help each other out."

"Get yourself in a devil's deal with Jones, did you?"

"No," Rob laughed. "You'd have to be bloody stupid to try and deal with Davy Jones."

Jack remained silent.

"It's in everyone's best interest to take charge of that heart." Rob leaned forward. "Every time any of us casts off, we're endangering ourselves and our men because of that madman who thinks he runs the seas. Of course, he does run the seas, which is why it's time for a changing of the guard, so to speak. You wouldn't be going after the dead man's chest if you didn't already know the power it has over him."

"I have yet to hear a plan." Apparently there were several people that generated the same brilliant idea he had to go after the key and chest, he thought, visibly frowning. So much for originality. Not to mention desperation and competition make bad bedfellows… He stuck out a knowing hand to catch Gibbs' unconscious head before it slammed into the table.

"You stay on the key, I stay on the chest. We meet back here at some designated point in time and share the power."

"Listen, Rob, I don't know how long you've been a captain, but there are a few fine points of negotiation it's high time you learned. For example, it would be enlightening as well as comforting for me to see some kind of physical evidence besides your word, which is about as far removed from physical as one can get, that you have some idea where the chest is, which would be enlightening and comforting to you as well. Then there is the matter of meeting back here at 'some designated point in time.' There are many things to consider there, namely the success of our respective ventures, the natural hazards of the sea, pirates…"

Rob reached into his coat pocket, Jack readying his pistol underneath the table. He gave only the slightest exhale when Rob unfolded a yellowed piece of parchment, white veins all over it like gossamer. They stretched out from the center so much it took little imagination for Jack to feel like a fly being sucked into the webbing.

"The story of Captain Falkenburg, written in his own hand. He had been brought on the _Dutchman _from the very beginning, Jones' original quartermaster. Once Jones' love left him and he started, you know… Falkenburg escaped the ship, having sworn no oath, and spent the remainder of his life searching for the key and the chest." Rob folded his arms.

"Well, there you go, mate, not giving me much incentive to trust ye," Jack said. "Falkenburg is alive and I know where he is."

"I never said he was dead!"

"Then don't tell the story in such a way that implies that he is."

"Jack." Rob cleared his throat, waiting for silent permission to call him that and proceed. "This parchment says where the chest is buried. Falkenburg watched him do it. Now as for the key, I have no idea. I don't even know if Falkenburg has it. All those years on the _Dutchman_, never aging in all that time, must have added decades to his life. If you know where he is, the honorable thing to do would be to save him, if just for the sake of posterity."

"Honorable and I seldom go together."

"Be that as it may, Jack, you would stand to profit from this, as would anyone you remotely care about." They glanced back at Gibbs and then to each other.

"How did you come by such a convenient clue?"

"Well." Rob reeled back in his chair. "I knew Falkenburg personally for a while. You might say I was a member of his crew?"

"Might say?" Jack sneered, a voice in his head warning him again and again the kid was going to be more of a handful than William ever had been.

"All right, I was a member of his crew and might have…swiped it from him."

"For the good of everyone who goes to sea, I take it." His sneer melted into a smirk. "Let's see the brand."

Rob pushed up his sleeve, his brand encircled by a tattoo of a serpent with its mouth stretched wide, about to devour an apple.

"A fellow pirate. Now that's someone I can work with," Jack said, his finger curling around the trigger of his pistol under the table.

"I have a lead on the whereabouts of the key."

"As do I."

* * *

Docked, the _Black Pearl _sat almost catatonic in the still waters, her masts bone-straight, sails sagging without wind. Resting his arms on the boom, Jack scanned the pier for Rob.

"Inviting a stranger onto the _Pearl _will only bring trouble," Leech said next to him, still out of breath from putting Gibbs to bed.

"You were a stranger once yourself," he said, not willing to admit he felt the exact same way, even after declining Rob's suggestion for where to meet and telling him to meet him on his own ship, alone, with his own crew surrounding him. Should be safe, mate. So why the unease?

"You're getting the Captain all riled up for nothing," Marty said. "Looks like the fellow's not even going to show."

"Shiver me timbers!" Cotton's parrot screeched. Cotton reached up and clamped down his beak.

"Is that him?" Leech pointed.

Jack looked out to see Rob, hands in his pockets, ambling through the last street down to the shipyard, not far from their pier. Alone, Jack smiled with a swallow, a wrenching feeling in his stomach. Think, mate, think. Ye come down here, dock in some random town for a rest, Gibbs conveniently meets someone who just so happens to also want the key and chest, knowing where the chest is already…wanting to share…that was the part that gave Jack's upper lip a twitch. It's just one too many coincidences. Life is made of coincidences. Among other things, though, he reminded himself, debating whether or not to return Rob's enthusiastic wave.

"He looks like a rabbit," Marty said.

"An adolescent rabbit," Leech remarked.

"C…" Jack caught himself, aborting his own order to cast off, remembering that parchment. He should have looked at it in the tavern, should have read it for himself. Bugger. Bugger, bugger, bugger! It's too many coincidences, mate, like you said. Aye, but curiosity's a powerful thing. But the whole thing is a ruse, Jackie-boy. You wouldn't feel this way if it were otherwise. Aye, but on the off-chance that the parchment was worth a read…damn curiosity.

"What was that, Captain?"

"Cast off." Curiosity be damned. He was not going to willingly walk into his own deathtrap.

The men shrugged and took their sweet time taking the lines.

"Nonchalantly-like, if ye please," Jack said. "Don't want to get his blood boiling."

"He's just one man, Captain. What should we care?"

As if on cue, dozens of uniformed men sprang from the shadows and bounded to the docks, armed, grenadiers in the front.

"No more nonchalant!" Jack shouted, racing up to the helm. "Opposite nonchalant!"

The _Pearl _glided out, her calm never faltering, oblivious to the Royal Navy right behind her. The smoke and popping of muskets diminished, the _Dauntless _thankfully nowhere in sight. Norrington was picking up a few tricks, Jack grimaced, shaking his head at himself, steering the ship unable to slake his anger.

"The man was working for Norrington the whole time," Leech said from behind him.

"Not the whole time, mate. I saw his brand. It is far more likely they captured a pirate who made a deal with them." Doing what was right by him, Jack remembered once saying, can't expect more than that. Utter nonsense, he thought before admitting to himself had the reverse occurred, he would have done the same thing. A small grin broke out on his face. "Pirate." Here's luck to you, Rob Main.

* * *

"Shift's up, Captain," Kursaw said, smacking his lips, his orange bushy hair for once still in the windless night. Jack answered with a subtle curve to starboard. "You'll need to get your rest, sir."

There's no rest to be had in that bed, he wanted to say so badly he pursed his lips together. Ever since leaving Dorset, the same dream he had originally lecherously welcomed now nagged him without mercy, taking her so desperately there was no other way to describe himself in it but lost. Of course, his attentions weren't on himself for long, becoming all too aware of Lizzie's creamy legs winding around him, the way her hair spread in small rays that could rival sunshine itself, the way she moaned out how much she loved him right before her eyes rolled back and she collapsed from the pleasure.

By itself, it was nothing he couldn't handle, but it was those declarations of love that erupted in his brain, pouring searing lava onto it until he couldn't think, couldn't do anything but act on it, and it was while he was in the middle of the act that he had said the words back, just trying them on for size, what they sounded like when they were said to her and not carelessly said to some doxy whose name he didn't bother to learn.

Lost.

"Captain?"

"A few more hours, Kursaw."

"You've been there a while now…"

"Don't question the Captain, Kursaw!" he exploded, grappling the spokes of the helm to refrain from finding the cat and administering a few lashings. His head jerked back to the horizon, eyes hardening at it, hating its distance.

"You're your own boss, Captain," Kursaw said, hands up and backing away down the steps.

Am I, Jack asked the helm.

* * *

**A/N: I actually know a Captain Rob Main and when we met, the first thing that came to mind was, "that would be a great pirate name." I'm taking a lot of liberties with his general appearance, though. This wasn't one of the more eventful chapters, so I will post chapter 20 soon. **


	20. Chapter 20

113 Days Before

Elizabeth and Estrella shivered, a northern wind nipping at their lips and noses, turning the surrounding sea a foamy green hue.

"What's the name of the ship, miss?"

"The _Monarch_."

"Fitting."

Their capes swishing against their skirts, they waddled down the harbor, scrutinizing the sides of each docked ship, the representative due to be stepping down off the planks and across the pier. Elizabeth wondered if he would know her, given a detailed but biased history of Governor Swann.

"Maybe we should have brought a sign," Estrella murmured to her, trying to make eye contact with every man that passed them. "Will he have some sort of entourage?"

"Miss Swann?"

They both turned to find a tall, spectacled man approach them.

"Lord Sebastian Norton, a pleasure." Skin a little more bronzed than a lord's should be, she took his offered hand and noted bright, intelligent green eyes and a casual smile. The tips of his golden hair grayed, he wore no wig. Appearances can be deceiving, she warned herself, about to believe his countenance housed a sensible, conscientious man.

"How do you do, Lord Norton. This is Estrella, one of our maids. Our driver is waiting on the other end of the harbor. My father has taken ill, or else he would have been here to meet you personally."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"As was he. He was so looking forward to acting as your host right away." She trotted a little ahead to guide Lord Norton out of the harbor. "If you'd like, Perkins is well prepared to take you on a tour of Port Royal before we arrive at the mansion." She winced. Her father owed her one for her conceding to call the house that while the representative would be here. "If not, your room has been prepared."

"I would like a chance to unwind, if only for a little while." He took a large sack from one of the loading men and flung it over his back. "But I'd be delighted to see Port Royal. Do you always have such lovely weather here?"

Elizabeth shot a stunned look at Estrella, only to see her mirroring it.

"Lovely, sir?"

"Oh yes. This is just about the most beautiful place I've ever seen, and so warm! You ought to see London, Miss Swann, snow up to one's knees."

"I daresay living here so long has made me something of a weakling in terms of weather, Lord Norton. To us, this is cold."

"I suppose it would be."

"I hope Father's correspondence reached you before you departed," she said, changing the subject. "We're hosting a Christmas party at the mansion so you can see the finest of Port Royal in all their festive glory." Of course we're lying to your face when we say "finest," she thought. While you're mingling with them, feel free to contemplate the fact they are judging you and gossiping about you at every turn and would just as soon remove you from your position as hang up their coats if Beckett coaxed them to do so.

Perkins ran up to them and took the sack from Lord Norton and heaved it up to the top of the carriage and then opened the door, holding out his arm for Elizabeth and Estrella to brace while climbing up to the cushioned seats, a few blankets folded at the ends.

"Long journey or short journey?" he whispered to Elizabeth.

"Short."

* * *

110 Days Before

Nearly every Port Royal household knew Lord Norton's name, due mostly to having stopped in every shop during his tour and buying a few items from each one to send to his brothers and parents in London. Staunch and discreet, he still managed to remind Elizabeth of herself when she first arrived, a wide-eyed sponge ready to soak up every last bit of information. Directly after congratulating her on her engagement, he insisted on sparring with her as well as her instructor.

"That would explain all those nicks there," Governor Swann said, sitting up in bed with a breakfast tray. He set down his glass to trace the cuts on her arms. "Lord Norton is more than capable when it comes to swordplay?"

"Decent." She shrugged. "I'm only cut because it was one-on-one-on-one. It was something Will never would have been able to teach me."

"May you never have to demonstrate it in the real world. Now, dear, I think I'm ready to get out of bed…"

"You're paler than these sheets and your cheeks are sunken in! You're absolutely not ready to get out of this bed." She stood and fluffed the pillow next to him and waited for him to lean forward to change it out with the one behind him. "There. You give it a few more days. I don't want you ill over Christmas."

"I feel as though I've abandoned you," he grumbled, spinning his fork on his plate. "You've had quite the undertaking, showing Lord Norton the whole town. Have you even gotten to see Will that much?"

She held the bed post and clawed at one of the grooves. She'd just finished a lesson with him, she told herself. And before that? Retracing her steps in her mind, she drew a blank. Had it been more than a few days?

"Will understands it's a busy time for us," she said after a pause.

"That settles it. I'm getting out of this bed." He rang the small bell she'd placed on his tray. Fisher entered and lifted it with one arm, his other jutted out for Elizabeth to take. She folded her arms and tapped her foot against the rug. "Elizabeth. Really. My fever's cooled. I've kept everything I've eaten down. I would hardly call playing host an exertion. There isn't any reason in the world to not start involving Lord Norton into the meat of the governor's position."

"Unless you make him sick."

"I won't make him sick."

"How do you know that?"

"Go on out of my quarters, Elizabeth, unless you want to see me dress."

Elizabeth clutched Fisher's arm and pulled him out of the room.

* * *

"We could have taken a day off to let your arms heal," Will said, puffing after every word, leaping back from Elizabeth's sword. Her answer was nothing less than a swift turn and thrust. Fighting one person at a time now felt so easy, she smiled, keeping her eyes on the blade. Her footwork now as natural as dance steps, she could focus all her attention on the shortest route to Will's vulnerable spots, the spots he'd showed her to go for her first lesson.

The parry escalated, hardly a moment without a deafening clang. They took the entire space of the shop, skidding on a few stray pieces of straw here and there. Able to hear the thumping of her own heart, she dove at him, throwing him off balance long enough for her to grip her sword with both hands and steady it right under his chin.

"You never want to use both hands," he gasped, hands up in defeat.

"It worked."

"It did." He rose, hands still up and open, she noticed, her eyes never wavering. "But it leaves me wide open to do this."

He collided with her waist, sending her reeling back. Reaching for his own sword, he picked it up and came back to her with a quickened pace. He has to be getting his second wind, Elizabeth thought, gasping even in her brain, dodging every strike until her sword flew from her hand and slammed to the ground. Will held his sword at her throat.

"What did I do wrong?" she asked.

"Assumed you won."

"May I ask a question?"

"You're at the wrong end of my sword and you're making requests?"

"Will!"

"I'm just pointing out the oddness of it…" He dipped the sword down to her collarbone.

"Am I improving?"

"Steadily improving," he said, sheathing his sword. "You've come a long way. I'm sure Lord Norton was caught off guard. How long is he going to be here?"

Elizabeth picked up her sword, the corner of her eye glued to Will, watching him cross over to the anvil and begin hammering with an expression that looked as though the name were still stuck to his tongue.

"You don't like him, I take it?"

"What? No, I…I didn't say that." He gave an awkward laugh and hammered louder.

"You don't like him?"

"He's just spending an awful lot of time with you…" he trailed off, again attaching a laugh at the end, reminding Elizabeth of a frightened child insisting he's brave.

"He's not spending time with me now." For effect, she turned and checked the shop from right to left.

"Do you like him?"

"He's a very nice man, kind, approachable." She met Will's face with a confused smile. Was there something she was supposed to be inferring? She opened her mouth to ask it out loud, but held back.

"Has he ever…is he married?"

"No."

"I just can't help but wonder if he fancies you," he said quickly.

Her mouth dropped open and she stared at him, her face frozen in half-amusement, half-offense.

"I don't mean it like you're leading him on," he said before she could respond. "I know you're not. It's just the idea of someone fancying you so close to you all the time…"

Thousands of retorts tried to swim to the surface, so frantically they tangled with each other, forcing her mind into a convoluted mess. Shaking her head, she threw her hurt face up to Will, hoping it would be enough for him to say whatever magic words were necessary to stop the endless trail of negativity circling around her. Instead, he remained silent, waiting for her to speak. Pouting, she stomped to the door and marched out to the street.

* * *

**A/N: I just want to take the stance that I think Elizabeth is being a little hard on Will here…not that he isn't, well, an ass at times, but I think she could have handled his slight (very slight) jealousy better. If I have any willabeth readers left, or even just those sympathetic to Will, I am not trying to make him into a controlling, overbearing guy. Everyone has a right to be a little jealous once in a while as long as it doesn't control him/her.**


	21. Chapter 21

108 Days Before

_Lo, how a Rose e'er blooming from tender stem hath sprung,  
of Jesse's lineage coming, as men of old have sung.  
It came, a flow'ret bright, amid the cold of winter,  
when half-spent was the night._

Isaiah 'twas foretold it, the Rose I have in mind;  
With Mary we behold it, the virgin mother kind.  
To show God's love aright, she bore to men a Savior,  
when half-spent was the night.

On the main deck of the _Black Pearl_, the men engaged in a makeshift game of Tenpins, setting up ten empty rum bottles into a triangle near the foremast and rolling a cannonball from several feet away. Amid Gibbs barking out, "Gently, boys! Can't have yer feet cut up with shards of glass now…deadliest game of Keggling I ever heard tell of," and the clanging of the bottles, Jack could hear a drunken, but nonetheless passionate, singing of the hymn. Still anchored in Sicily, he recalled the last several hours.

_"Don't seem too smart is all, goin' all by yourself," Gibbs growled behind him, arms crossed rather than helping Jack prepare the longboat._

_"Do I always seem smart to you?" Jack paused in his work, taking in Gibbs' thoughtful expression, actually pondering the question. _

_"What do ye gotta do here, of all places, and on Christmas Eve! Jack, it'll do a number on the crew's morale if their captain leaves 'em…" He took out his timepiece. "…three hours before it's officially Christmas. Leaving at night all alone…feels bad all the way around."_

_"I'm not going all the way around. It's a straight shot to where I'm going." Jack grinned, climbed into the longboat and lowered himself down to the still waters. The moonlight reflected off of it perfectly, he saw as he steered towards the land. Already the sultry aroma of the orange trees competed with the salty sea air. _

* * *

_It was well worth the traveling, Jack thought, puffing only a little after the journey, taking in Monreale's cathedral, "like two churches forged together into one," just as his mother had described it to him. The Arabesque arches complimented the Biblical tales carved into the capitals. He entered, dabbing filthy fingers into the Holy Water, his eyes on the massive columns on either side of him, leading up to a half-length figure of Christ himself welcoming the congregation below him with his pious mother and his infant self immediately underneath him. _

_Even at night the bold white and gold of the cathedral stood out, the smells of oranges, olives, and almonds from outside swirling around the columns. There were few places in the world Jack truly regarded as holy, and in spite of the knowledge that this was the very place Captain Teague fell to his knees, wrapped his arms around Oria Pettirosso's legs and begged, yes, begged, for her to sail away with him, this was one of them. He'd heard the story so many times from Mum, leaving Confession only for the man she'd known but a few days to confront her right then, right there, and make some confessions of his own. _

_She'd had a lot to confess, Teague had snorted to him later, revealing that his mother's life in Monreale, Sicily had consisted of pickpocketing and burglary to stay alive, eking by when she probably would have done quite well for herself if she'd taken her religion just a tad less seriously and resorted to prostitution. _

_He snapped his head back in the direction of the central apse. Then the sounds he hadn't heard in years stilled him._

_Bells._

_Chanting._

_Luscious, rich pipe organ._

_Latin._

_He remained silent for each congregational response, not ready to speak, in fact, determined not to speak while he sat under so many golden, glossy saints. Accepting the unleavened bread, he knelt with the others, his trinkets jingling, and swallowed the Body of Christ, wetting his lips for the Blood that would follow. The strong wine burned his throat on its way down, cleansing him most likely, he thought. He needed it. _

_Prayer followed, but when in mass did it not follow, he thought, interlocking his fingers and concentrating on the priest's words in a language Oria had taken great pains to ensure her son learned to the point of fluency. _

_Silens Votum, a call to silent prayer._

_Lord, his thoughts started before blanking. Confess your sins, bloody codpiece. Ha, we'll be here all night if we do that. Just the important ones then. Lord…he ran over the Ten Commandments and Seven Deadly Sins in his head. I am guilty of…wrath, pride, greed, gluttony…but only by way of rum…sloth, we'll throw in envy for good measure…_

_Lust?_

_At first, the most serious part of him took insult. Only lust? Well, it was, but it was…it was more. He wasn't stupid. He knew what started out as lust was growing into something he didn't want to name, didn't dare name, because once he did, there would be no going back. Nothing would ever come of it anyway. __But still he took insult. It was more, so much more, and the simplicity of it, the purity of it, was growing more potent by the day._

_But you're fighting it._

_With good reason! For one thing it would be so much easier to confess to if it were only lust, good old-fashioned, nothing-new lust._

_"Amen."_

_Bugger. No! No, add profanity during mass to a long list of sins. He tightened his already-closed eyelids and scrambled around in his mind for the best way to summarize the garbled thoughts circling around in it._

_Lord, bless and keep Elizabeth._

_His eyes widened and then bulged as he stood with the rest of the congregation to receive the Benediction. Fool. Didn't even ask for forgiveness. And you called her Elizabeth. You must have meant it._

_Shut it._

_Side-stepping out to the center aisle, he curtailed the long line forming to clasp the priest's hand on the way out into the night, sneaking out of the house of God and back to the streets, rejecting sanctuary rather than claiming it. _

* * *

_He'd found Gibbs sitting on a barrel, already tipsy, laughing and wiping some saliva off his chin with his arm, listening to some story one of the men told. Jack's ears rang at the sound of bottles jangling together, being positioned for Tenpins. Creative, he nodded, smirking at the gift he had for his first mate in his coat. _

"Your turn, Cap'n!" they all called, forcing him back into the presence. "Come on! Show us what ye can do!"

Tipping his hat, Jack descended the stairs and held the cannonball with both hands, positioning his feet just so, straggling forward. He let the cannonball go, wincing while it veered just slightly to the left, knocking down six pins instead of the intended ten.

"All is not lost. You do get another turn," Leech said, his snake-like fingers coiled around a narrow bottle of ale.

"Aye, and we just know you'll pick up that spare. Don't we, boys?" Gibbs shouted, giving a sharp laugh and raising his flask. The crew cheered, staggered, and cheered a little more, so drunk Jack speculated he could run up to the pins and kick them all over the place like a sullen tot and they wouldn't know the difference. Shuffling forward, he rolled the cannonball again, willing it to stay straight with his arms.

"Miss it!" Gibbs blabbed immediately after Jack had released it. Glaring at him the whole time, he didn't have to see he had indeed picked up the spare, the crew's cheers echoing up the sails.

"Mr. Gibbs."

"Aye?"

"Enlighten us, if ye please, as to what the Code has to say in regards to jinxing."

"Jinxing?" His face fell.

"What you did just there, jinxing. Enchant. Bedevil. Hex."

"I'm well aware what it means," Gibbs sputtered, blinking a few times in thought. "Jack, I'm not sure the Code says anything about jinxing."

"Then by doing so, whilst the Code does not say anything about it, you are in indirect violation of the Code, for you see, if it were in the Code to begin with, it would be an important item that required doing or not doing." He smirked, his hand resting on the gift. "And we cannot have perpetual violators of our sacred Code go unpunished, can we?"

"I thought we was agreed they were more like guidelines," Gibbs argued.

"Guidelines? Pft! There are certain pirates that would kill ye for spouting such tripe." One in particular, Jack thought with a grimace. "Now." He strutted over to him and gestured for him to stand. The crew watched with bated breath. "As I am too sentimental to do anything physically harming to your person…" He paused to give Gibbs a wink, causing the older man to cock his inebriated head in confusion. "I see no other choice but to humiliate you…with this." He produced from his pocket a hand-stitched-and-stuffed bear, small enough to fit just right under one's arm. Jack relished the second of silence before a few sarcastic coos and amused applause. Refuge in audacity, he thought.

"A bear?"

"Not just any bear. This, Mr. Gibbs, is the bear of shame. It is to lie on your hammock to remind you just how vital the Code is to our way of life. Is that understood?"

Gibbs blushed, staring at the small bear's button eyes. Then he nodded and mimicked Jack's smirk.

"But, Captain…" he said with no emotion.

"I said is that understood, Mr. Gibbs? This bear is to be yours and yours alone?"

"Crystal clear." Gibbs took the bear in his arms and slapped Jack's back. Setting his jaw, Jack normally would not allow such a thing to occur in front of the crew. But seeing as it was Christmas and all…

"Now, now." He clapped his hands at the men. "Proceed with your game and your singing. Quick now. Resume."

He glanced back at Gibbs, retreating below decks to drop the bear off at his hammock. They exchanged a look, one of understanding, silent and stoic understanding, before Gibbs disappeared into the womb of the _Pearl. _I do trust ye, mate. Not with everything. But enough. Climbing up to the crow's nest, he let his legs hang over and watched over his crew. Emerging from below decks, Gibbs turned around and smiled up at him, hurling up an apple to him and mouthing "Happy Christmas" before mingling back into the festivities.

_The shepherds heard the story, proclaimed by angels bright,  
how Christ, the Lord of glory, was born on earth this night.  
To Bethlehem they sped and in the manger found him,  
as angel heralds said._

This flow'r, whose fragrance tender with sweetness fills the air,  
dispels with glorious splendor the darkness ev'rywhere.  
True man, yet very God; from sin and death he saves us  
and lightens ev'ry load.

* * *

**A/N: "Lo, How a Rose E'er Blooming" is a Christmas carol I still sing in church. It's in several hymnals, especially Lutheran ones, so sorry if you hadn't heard of it. There aren't many carols that date back this far and it took forever to find ones I knew. So, I suppose this is belated, but we've come to Christmas time. Please note the next chapter will be structured the same way as these were originally meant to be companion chapters for a two-shot. Anyways, let's see how Elizabeth is spending her Christmas…**


	22. Chapter 22

108 Days Before

_The holly and the ivy,  
When they are both full grown  
Of all the trees that are in the wood  
The holly bears the crown  
O the rising of the sun  
And the running of the deer  
The playing of the merry organ  
Sweet singing of the choir_

The musicians seated in the open parlor softened their stringed instruments, evoking a gentle hum of bass violins and violas that called the party guests over to them. Glasses of punch in hand, the gaggle of Port Royal's richest broke into song. Elizabeth stood on her tiptoes to see the holly leaves on the white mantle. While artificial greenery with fresh oranges and apples tucked into it provided most of the house's decorations, the holly was real, and it would not last long. At once feeling sullen from the realization, she wondered if all good, natural things were not meant to last.

Will brushed the back of her arm, burrowing into her and resting his chin on her piled-up hair. She pulled one of his hands up just when it began to wrap around her waist and brought it to her lips.

* * *

_Circling the dining room table, she drummed the white tablecloth with satisfied fingers. Rhoda outdid herself, of course, the roast, mince pies, shrimp, oysters—everything sliced and minced accordingly so the guests could move about as they ate, but none of them would know Miss Elizabeth Swann herself made the bourbon balls, chopping up the pecans herself, pouring in the bourbon herself, rolling the cocoa-rich mixture into balls herself. To think not too long ago her hands had been smothered in syrup and bourbon, wafer crumbs and nuts sticking to her. She'd waited until Rhoda's back was turned to lick most of it off. Now, decked out in festive cranberry silk and pearl earrings, she looked about as far removed from a cook's kitchen as the holly from its forest._

_She resumed her path around the downstairs once again, inspecting every hanging bunch of mistletoe and straightening the sheet music on the stands. She'd raced up the stairs earlier to check that Father's cranberry coat was free of wrinkles. Complaining for the last eight years about why the host and hostess needed to be dressed to match, she'd kept her mouth shut this time, reminding herself of why they were throwing a party in the first place._

_"Mr. Turner is downstairs, miss," Fisher announced from the hallway, not about to enter Governor Swann's personal chambers with only her there._

_"I'll be right down. Do you think everyone will come? It would destroy Father if this didn't turn out well." She kept walking towards the stairs, almost running away from the answer._

_"I wouldn't worry, miss. What else has anyone to do for Christmas?"_

_"Are you saying boredom will be what saves the Swann family, Fisher?" she asked with a playful bark, raising a suspicious eyebrow._

_"I'm, er, sorry. I can't hear you, miss. I believe someone is calling me." He made a sharp turn from the stairs and dashed through to the dining room as fast as his limp would allow him. Shaking her head, she approached Will, just barely over the threshold. _

_"How do I look?" he asked, lifting his arms to expose his cream embroidered tunic and coat the color of a pond at nightfall. A bit of lace fluffed out from the coat at each wrist. His hair tied back at the nape of his neck with a black ribbon, he looked…Elizabeth glossed over him…like a blacksmith trying to fit in with the nobility. He gave her a half-smile._

_"You'll win them over," she said, kissing him, realizing after she said it that it did not put him at ease in the slightest. Slipping her arm through his, she led him into the parlor. "Father will mainly be in here, socializing and intermixing and otherwise making merry, staying close to Lord Norton. You and I will be out in the foyer, greeting everyone. You'll shake their hands, tell them Fisher will take any coats or capes they might have and that they are free to roam about the house."_

_"What about when everyone is already here?"_

_"Then we go make merry."_

_"I have a feeling that's going to be harder than it sounds."_

_"It decidedly is."_

_The older gentlemen and their wives arrived first, and, as Elizabeth predicted, took a liking to Will. She swelled with pride, noting that with the exception of a breathless, awkward greeting here and there, he had conquered his nerves. She laid her head on his shoulder for a moment, trying to let the spirit of Christmas wash over her._

_"Just like a fairyland," she heard one of the older women say, coming over to them._

_"That's Mrs. Downs, Cornelia's mother," Elizabeth whispered to Will. "You'd never be able to tell."_

_"Hello, Elizabeth, my dear. How pretty you look." She pushed up her spectacles and glided to Will. "And this is Mr. Turner. A pleasure, sir. I am delighted to meet you. Oh, I am thrilled about your wedding. April can't come soon enough. The Admiral and I were just saying the next wedding we thought we would be attending would be our daughter's…and here little Miss Swann is getting married." She clasped her hands together and brought them to her chin. "Where does the time go? I wanted to tell you, my dear." She took Elizabeth's hand. "The house is absolutely gorgeous. All the fresh fruit and flowers everywhere and you even had holly brought in…it's a fairyland, just like a fairyland, I said to the Admiral…can you imagine? A fairyland here in the middle of paradise? Oh, Happy Christmas, my dear." She turned back to Will, still patting Elizabeth's hand. "And you, it was such a joy meeting you, Mr. Turner. I shall know I am in good hands the next time I am in need of a blacksmith. You take care of this one now, ha ha. Miss Swann has always been a mischievous one. We can't have anymore pirates coming and spiriting her away, can we? Congratulations, you two, and a Happy Christmas to you!" With that, she ran over to her husband, who stood almost two feet taller than she did, and waltzed into the parlor with him. _

_"How does she find time to breathe?" Will murmured to her._

_"Don't be too unkind. She's the exact opposite of Cornelia."_

_"Where is she?"_

_"She'll be coming with one of the other girls and her family. She always does."_

_"Oh! Oh, I almost forgot." They turned their heads to see Mrs. Downs returning to them, her pink gown swishing along with her. "I forgot to tell you two…look where you've been standing this whole time!" She nodded her head upward, gesturing for them to spy the mistletoe hanging from the chandelier. Arms entwined across her chest like a little girl, she swayed, waiting._

_"How could I have missed that?" Will laughed and leaned down, kissing the side of Elizabeth's neck._

_"There's no need to be so stringent with it, my dear Mr. Turner. It's Christmas. 'Tis the season to be jolly.'"_

_Eyeing Mrs. Downs, Will turned back and kissed Elizabeth on the mouth, holding the back of her head. She closed her eyes, relishing the sensation of his tongue, the scent of his clothes. The surge of heat coursing through her threw a veil over her mind and any remaining semblance of discretion. Her hand sprung up and nested in Will's hair, so immersed in it that it took a few seconds for her to register that her body had pressed itself up against his. Drawing back, she gasped for air, looking at Will only from the corner of her eye. His eyes were still closed, chest heaving. His lips moved a fraction, his eyebrows narrowing together as if he were counting to a hundred. _

_"Oh. Oh my." Mrs. Downs blushed, gazing at the floor, her foot tracing a pattern into it. "Well, nothing like young love, is there? Oh my. I, I best be finding the Admiral now." She scurried back into the parlor._

_Elizabeth glanced over at Will. In an instant, she latched back onto him, her hands pressing down on his shoulders to keep him from pulling away from her kiss. He did pull away, but only enough to leave a trail of kisses down her jaw. It forced her eyes to open, so unfocused the colors of the foyer melded together. She shut them again, wallowing in the touch. Without saying a word, without a thought entering her mind, her fingers interlocked with his and she led him up the stairs, all the way up to the first guestroom. _

_"Elizabeth," he breathed, but she cut him off, slamming the door shut and throwing herself at him again. _

_The four-poster bed squeaked as they sat at the end of it, pushing back the array of coats and capes blindly until they could feel the soft periwinkle blanket underneath them. The only light came from under the heavy white door and the gray glow of the full moon from the other side of the high, narrow window. _

_Still locked into each other, Elizabeth slid Will's coat off his shoulders at the same time he began to bend her back, his hands cradling the buttoned back of her silk dress, his lips on the dip of her throat._

_Her eyes fluttered open, a chain of thoughts rushing through her. Stretching to see Will's closed eyes, she wished for them to snap open, to just look at her. No. Not right. Each link in her mental chain was the same thing—no, not right, no, not right, no, not right…_

_"I can't." She sat up, folding her hands into her lap, the skirt of her dress spread all around her like the top of a mushroom. _

_"It's not the right time," Will whispered, pawing at his lips, withdrawing from her as if he'd struck her. He stood without speaking, without so much as looking at her, and ran his hand over the bedpost. "I'm sorry."_

_"No, I am," she sputtered, searching for the words. Retracing her steps in her mind, she had been the one to initiate it, but…all she could do was shake her head. No. Not right._

_"When we're married," Will said, turning back to her with a guilty smile. He picked up his coat and smoothed it out. "Can you forgive me, Elizabeth?"_

_She smiled at the large, eager eyes that reminded her so much of the day they met. So idealistic, so intrinsically good…a white knight that seemed destined to love from afar, composing poems and songs for her that she was never meant to hear. To corrupt that courtly love almost felt deviant, but to deny him certainly didn't bring her any pleasure. Honor, specifically a woman's honor, she snorted, remembering lines from John Wilmot's poem:_

_She lives a wretch for Honour's sake/__Whose tyrant does most cruel prove/__The difference is not hard to make/__Consider real Honour then/Y__ou'll find hers cannot be the same;/__'Tis noble confidence in men/__In women, mean, mistrustful shame._

_"Mistrustful shame," she murmured, holding herself, still sitting on the bed._

_"What?"_

_"Never mind." Standing, she straightened the lapel of his coat, fixating on the buttons more than she should._

_"You look beautiful," he whispered, eliciting a hopeless smile from her. Taking his arm, Elizabeth led him back down the staircase, the rousing melody of carols echoing up to them. A full house, the guests swayed here and there, talking amongst themselves, never noticing the hostess and her consort gone. It gave Elizabeth a naughty satisfaction while she bobbed around on the last step._

_"Your father is probably still in the parlor," Will said, eyeing her movement. _

_"I'm not looking for Father. I'm looking for Beckett." She scanned through the crystalline glasses in casual hands, the powdered wigs, the shrill laughter, and tipsy singing for him. She gasped at the sight of him in a black coat with yellow trim, sipping punch and conversing with two men. "I was beginning to think he would catch fire at the mere mention of Christmas."_

_Will laughed and took her hand to help her down the last step. The gesture almost rekindled her arousal, but she blinked it away._

_"Will, Will, I need to be alone for a moment." _

_"Are you all right?" He bent over her, taking her arm and the small of her back, readying himself to guide her to a chair to sit._

_"I just need some air. Really. Go on inside and say hello. Stand near Admiral and Mrs. Downs, if my recommendation means anything," she forced a laugh. "You'll be taken in as a son in less than five seconds." He pursed his lips together and hovered over her, just low enough to plant a kiss on her forehead, but he demurred, slinking back and letting go of her to cross into the parlor._

_Creeping through the rear of the house, sinking into the shadows, she breathed in the coastal air exiting out onto the patio. Sitting at the stone bench closest to the sea, she peered out into it, absorbing the reflection of the moonlight on it, the soft, subtle way the waves danced. The ninth Christmas without her mother, she thought, her eyes brimming with tears. Would a mother be able to explain what had happened upstairs? Would a mother even want to hear such a story from her daughter without erupting like a volcano? Her eyes wandered up to the starry heavens, silently begging her mother to send her answers. Was she even feeling everything a fiancée should feel, clean as well as unclean feelings? Should she have said something more to Will? Question after question after question…no answers to be found. _

_Somewhere out on that sea, James was spending his first Christmas in eight years without them, scouring the world for Jack…and Lord only knew how he spent his Christmases. She shivered and then sighed at the thought. To be alone, or captured, or even fighting not to be captured or killed this night of all nights Pity for Jack Sparrow, she snorted. He'd love that. _

_Perhaps you're thinking too much about yourself, she thought in a voice that was so like her mother's it stilled her heart. You're fortunate all you have to pine for are answers. Closing her eyes, she pressed her hands flat together and spoke in so low a whisper she essentially only mouthed the words. "Please look after Jack. Keep him safe, let him know…" She bit her lip. "Please look after him. In your name I pray. Amen." _

_"Miss Elizabeth? What are you doing out here?"_

_Elizabeth turned to see Estrella, braced up against the archway, her shoulders relaxing._

_"Just, just taking in some air," she said, fingering her dress. "How is the party going? I hope it's not too daunting." Her eyes drifted up from Estrella's heaving chest to her cheeks and forehead covered in a sheen of sweat. "You look worn out."_

_"Indeed I am, miss." She coughed and straightened herself out from the archway. Folding her arms, she gazed out at the patio. "Thinking about your mum?"_

_"Yes, yes, in a way."_

_"Lord knows we miss the ones we love the most at Christmas time." She patted Elizabeth's back. "Come on then, miss. We'd best get you in for carols before folks start to miss you." Latching onto her hand, Estrella guided her back inside and towards the parlor, the music swelling._

_"Will you join us, Estrella?"_

_"Oh, thank you, miss, but no. There's too many in there who'd think I don't know my place," she laughed, smoothing her best dress, a warm chocolate muslin one with thick lace folded over the bosom. "Mr. Turner is waiting for you, I'm sure."_

_Elizabeth left her to squeeze through the ajar door into the congested parlor, making eye contact with Will the moment she found him in the crowd, singing her way over to him._

_The holly bears a blossom  
As white as lily flower  
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ  
To be our sweet Saviour  
O the rising of the sun  
And the running of the deer  
The playing of the merry organ  
Sweet singing of the choir_

_The holly bears a berry_  
_As red as any blood_  
_And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ_  
_To do poor sinners good_  
_O the rising of the sun_  
_And the running of the deer_  
_The playing of the merry organ_  
_Sweet singing of the choir_

* * *

**A/N: Probably didn't expect to see a poem by John "The Libertine" Wilmot in the Christmas chapter, did you? Sorry it is not in line format and in song format instead, but the spacing got weird on me and I'm not computer savvy enough to fix it any other way. What a world it would be if someone put the Libertine's poetry to music... This chapter was one of the least fun to write, but one of the most fun to research. While in the movies Elizabeth's "eagerness" is explored some and Will's is left up to the imagination, he is the one actually making all the moves—the first to kiss, the first to say he loves her, etc. So I was trying to explore what they both might be feeling, and in case you're going to tell me this sort of thing didn't happen back then…it did. A lot. I am updating quickly because next week is going to be very chaotic for me and I'm not sure I will have a lot of time to post. Also, this chapter is stylistically and thematically the same as the previous one, really companion chapters, so I wanted to post them fairly close anyway. Please leave a review.**


	23. Chapter 23

102 Days Before

Throwing on his coat, Jack adjusted the mirror in the cabin, using the cuff of his sleeve to wipe out a smear. Keeping the lights at a soft dim hue, he nodded before adorning his hat and stepping out into the Italian sunlight, the closest thing the world had to Caribbean sunlight, he thought, the same blues and greens with that welcoming warm sun overhead.

"Ye sure ye want to be doin' this?" Gibbs asked from the helm.

"Wanting has nothing to do with it. It must be done."

"Couldn't we just take a gamble and sail on through?"

"Not so much in the mood for taking anymore unnecessary gambles, Mr. Gibbs," he said, pouting at Gibbs' grimace. "I promise ye a bloody good gamble in the near future…at some point…maybe." He shook his head and then climbed up the steps. "You'll be the one minding the _Pearl_ this time. I'll be takin' Leech with me."

He jumped back when Gibbs turned his annoyed face to him.

"I'll ask again: ye sure ye want to be doin' this?"

"If Villanueva is in a temperamental mood, I need a target taller than me. Savvy?"

* * *

The rows of olive trees gave the farm an aroma almost as salty as the ocean.

"This man is a pirate?" Leech asked, stepping over a pile of manure.

"Retired, officially. Pirates on the side. It's what most of the older ones do." He turned back to Leech. "Oh, and he is a pirate lord, not just a pirate, and he'd like everyone who speaks to him to be aware of such and greet him with all the reverence such a title deserves. What that level of reverence is, I have no idea."

Passing the pins that housed the countless pigs, Jack knocked on the heavy door of the large, boxy house. A wide-nostriled man with a mane of graying hair answered, rolling his eyes when Jack removed his hat and gave a bow.

"Captain Villanueva, only you could find such a fertile, radiant, lush alcove in this whole world to rival that of your native Spain, although I'm sure one foot set back there would earn you a quick trip to the gallows, eh? You know, I was just tellin' me crew the real money is in pigging. Ye have your ham, your bacon…"

"What do you want?"

"Oy! Here I come, house warming, as I have never received an invitation here, I'll have ye know, and am bombarded with questions! If I felt like being interrogated, I'd have just sailed up to London itself. Maybe I've come to say hello. Maybe I've come to learn the ways of animal husbandry, specifically pig husbandry, if it's called that. Is it called that? I don't know much about pigs, but the ones you have certainly smelled like they were well cared for."

"What do you want?" Villanueva demanded again, drawing out his pistol.

"Permission to sail through your sea, Eduardo. A simple request, and, to show my good willed nature, I have a gift for you." He prompted Leech to come closer to the threshold and hold out the sack of gold, Jack sidestepping until he was halfway behind him.

"Where are you trying to go?"

"Just passing through."

"Come inside," Villanueva said, beckoning them into the house, wider than it appeared on the outside, fresh natural light seeping in from every direction, the aroma of several bouquets wafting. "How's your father, Jackie?"

"I wouldn't know."

"Thought you might be wanting to see him. He sails through here every once in a while…your mother was an Italian, wasn't she?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Therefore coming here must feel, in a way, like coming home. Well, that would explain why you were here, New Year's Eve, spending it in your mother's country. I have a business proposition for you."

"On a holiday? Here I thought you were being sentimental and nostalgic."

"Still a pirate, Jackie. That's what you younger ones never seem to understand. You think we're all soft in our old age. You'll learn. You'll learn the more seasoned a pirate becomes, the more ways he knows how to kill you." He stopped in front of an ornate black birdcage, a few orange-beaked finches flapping about inside. "There is a lord who lives not far from here, Bertoldo Esposito. In his possession is a diamond, one the size of that entire ring you have on there. You bring me that diamond, I'll let you pass. You can keep your gold."

"No background information?" Jack flicked the cage, watching the birds scatter, a few eggs sticking out from the little nest in the corner. Might end up in one of these yourself, mate, if you're not careful, he warned himself.

"Obtuse, merciless, vulgar—he doesn't deserve such a thing. Have you ever wondered how something so beautiful could belong to someone so unworthy?"

"I believe such a thing is called jealousy." Jack's finger traced one of the bars on the cage.

"Ah well, we have an understanding. There shouldn't be anyone else in the mansion besides himself, his wife, and his servants. Several entrances and exits…you can figure out the rest. Do we have an accord?"

* * *

Early evening, Jack reminded himself, propping his leg up over the opened window in the back of the house, the likeliest time for the fewest number of people to be conveniently not at home. In the street in front, Leech lied moaning from underneath a staged cart, the servants running out to assist.

Hoisting his other leg over the ledge, he toppled over and landed in a cramped sitting room, wall-to-wall shelves of books and globes, expensive quills and ivory ink bottles displayed on a Baroque desk. He could load up just the room and make enough profit to retire if he wished, he thought, cocking his neck up to eye the fresco of the Madonna and Child on the ceiling.

Rifling through the drawers of the desk, he cursed himself again for not conjuring up a counter proposal, one that would have involved less work. More seasoned pirates do have their attributes indeed.

With no diamond anywhere in sight, he sighed and cricked open the door, just enough to check both ends of the corridor before sneaking out in a silent bee-line for the next room. Turning the knob, he edged his way in and pressed his back up against the wall.

A library and a library-esque sitting room? He raised an eyebrow, beginning to agree with Villanueva.

"He doesn't read them."

He spun around to catch a woman who looked about in her forties in the doorway, long luscious raven hair leading down to a sword in her smooth hand. Frozen in position, he tucked his lip into his mouth, waiting for her.

"He buys them to say he has them, no more. What is it you have come for?" She lifted the sword, blade pointed right at him.

"I should very much like to keep his daughter in the dark to the insidious nature of…"

"I am his wife."

_"__Una declaración imposible." _His upper lip twitched. "There is no possible way you could be more than…twenty-nine." It twitched again at the slight spark in her eyes. Summoning his most disarming grin, he strutted to her, careful to lean back so as not to walk right into the blade. "Perhaps I should rethink just what it is I've come here to pilfer, eh?" The sword lowered, her eyes darkening. Not a bit of gray in her hair, a few wrinkles near the tips of her eyes and corners of her mouth concealed with powder, eyebrows plucked… "You must keep him busy keeping unwanted suitors at bay."

"He…has not had much to do with me," she stuttered, taking nervous but deliberate steps to him, her gaze lowering. Chest heaving, she let go of the sword, setting it against the nearest shelf.

"That doesn't make much sense at all." He took advantage of her empty hands and clasped them, interlocking his fingers with hers. "Were I a married man, I could think of a great number of ways to interact with my wife, as it were." Too soon for a kiss, mate, he thought, instead boring a hole into her black silk dress with his eyes, shortening his breathing, gulping—all practiced and crafted to perfection. He backed her into the shelves, hearing only a series of thuds as the books knocked into each other. Working his hand up into her hair, he sighed at the softness of it. She wetted her lips, her eyelids down halfway, staring into his.

"You've certainly had experience," she breathed, a small laugh snorting out with her shallow exhale. Cupping his face, she came forth and kissed him, the sweetness of her lips bringing a smile to his face. He answered back, adding a deeper kiss each time. So long. Had it truly been months since he'd been with a woman? It helped she was so willing, so thrilled to rebel against whatever sheltered lifestyle her husband had bestowed upon her. Wrapping his arms around her, he worked on the long string of buttons on her back.

"I think overprotective fathers invented buttons," he grunted, still working on them. She laughed and gathered up her skirt, bunching it up around her, but he held her wrists in place. "I want to see."

"Uncommon for a burglar who takes his time," she said, tilting her chin up to expose her uncovered neck, long and creamy, just how he liked them. His mouth dove right into it, sucking at the delicate skin while he pushed the top of her dress down to her waist and helped her perch on the edge of one of the shelves. "You've been with married women?"

"Never with one that liked being married," he said, breaking away to give her a serious answer, his entire lower half throbbing to continue. His hand slid down off the ball of her shoulder and down her side until it cupped her breast, almost too large for his hand to cover.

"They wanted you?"

"Every woman wants Captain Jack Sparrow," he said, inches from her face. "Now what say you to making yourself feel all nice and wanted, eh?"

"I want to feel like the only one." She shot up her hand and pressed a finger to his lips, mocking his raised eyebrow. "I want to feel like I'm the one you'll come back for."

New, victims making demands of him, but such an enticing demand. Closing his eyes, he planted a gentle kiss on her before prying her lips apart, sliding his tongue into her mouth, her moan as heart-rushing as the waves. So long. Too long. Blindly pulling down her undergarments, he adjusted himself and started, his head already spinning from the contact.

"What's your name?" he whispered as they rocked, as conversational as if they'd met at a party.

"Lucinda. What have you come here for?"

"A diamond."

After a short gasp and a lusty smile at him, she licked her lips. "I'll get it for you when we're finished. That doesn't mean make this short."

His forehead pressed against hers, eyes still closed, waiting for the image he wanted to materialize. His hips gave a harder thrust when it came. Holding her wrist again, he guided it up to him and kissed it, watching the memory of himself kissing Lizzie's wrist in between the bars of the _Dauntless' _brig.

* * *

Arms up and extending to the sky, Jack strolled out the front door with a yawn, laughing silently at Leech's shocked face. His legs feeling heavy, he stretched his neck and waved at him, the villagers now gone, probably back to their villas. Physically spent, he pushed the nagging thought that it hadn't been as satisfying as he thought to the back of his mind.

"You have it?"

Without a word, he produced the large stud from his pocket, the last remnants of the pink sun reflecting off its facets.

"Did you have to fight for it?" Leech, even though a head taller, trotted next to him to keep up the pace. "Did you?"

"My opponent certainly succumbed," he said with a wink, fighting the soreness building up in his heavy legs, wanting nothing more than to fall back into a sofa or a bed.

* * *

They stopped in front of the entrance to Villanueva's farm, several parked carriages scattered around it. Jack and Leech shared a quizzical look before approaching the house, hearing festive stringed music grow louder with each step. Extra lanterns and candles flickered throughout the house, throwing the young girl who answered the door into a silhouette.

"May I help you?"

"Villanueva," Jack shouted over the music. What kind of fiesta was this? The girl looked about twenty years old, an infant compared to the likes of Villanueva. Wondering if he would seriously consider gouging out his eyes at seeing his father's friend, his father's stout, hairy friend, participating in an orgy, the girl ushered them inside and called into the main room.

"_Papá_!"

With widened eyes, he saw Villanueva break free from his guests and sprint into the foyer, his mouth a perfect circle at the sight of them.

"You're back."

"Yes, and with your delivery…" Jack kept a suspicious eye on him.

"Excellent! Bernadita…" He turned to the girl and clapped his hands together. "_Ayuda su madre_. I didn't expect you to return. To be quite honest I made up that little quest so you would give up and get the hell out of my sea, but you have the diamond?" He clapped again when Jack pulled it out for him. Yanking it away, he gestured for them to follow him back into a den-like room. "Come! Come, come. I will show you what you have done for me."

"Any more pirate lords have children?" Jack uttered, staring back out into the party.

"Jackie, if you would take the time to put someone else before yourself you would learn a great deal about a great many people. Here." He held out a silver bracelet with a citrine and an emerald for the top, the diamond now in between them, several tongs holding them in place. "Daniel. My middle child. Born in April. Everyone else who sees it will think Ines just likes the flag of this country."

"You're married? Three children?"

"Bernadita, Daniel, and Patricio." Villanueva nodded. "She's already twenty. The boys started coming by, but word got out I had keelhauled a few in my time and they kept their distance." He winked and elbowed Jack. "Tonight, twenty-two years ago, Ines became my wife, and I can think of no better way to honor those twenty-two years than by acknowledging our children through their birthstones." He held the bracelet up against the light and admired it once more before going back out into the foyer, leaving Jack and Leech frozen, save for a few blinks. "Well? Come and see. She thinks the party is her gift, and that's all it was going to be, but you outdid yourself, Jackie. I thought you'd have given up at the mere mentioning of work."

"It seems there's more to both of us than either of us anticipated," Jack said, more to himself. "Do they know what you are?"

"I keep no secrets from my wife!" Villanueva spun around and stepped right up to Jack, his chest puffed. "Of course she knows."

"Do your children know?"

"Well, if you mean do they know that I have, in the past, and occasionally now, go out and pillage a little from those too stingy or oppressive and otherwise undeserving of their fortunes in order to support them…yes." He folded his arms. "I wish many children upon you, Jackie, but I will be upfront…they are expensive." He patted his back and weaved around his guests. "Come! At least stay and eat for your troubles."

"Are we staying?" Leech whispered, jumping when the song ended and another one sprang up in its place.

"We are." Jack stood on his tiptoes, frowning at the crowd until he spotted Villanueva tap a petite, fragile-looking woman on the bottom. That had better be her, Jack thought with a raised eyebrow. They stood near the corner window, face to face, oblivious to the merriment around them. Their mouths moving but no words audible, he resigned to watching only their body movements, Villanueva presenting the bracelet to her, the jewels shining right up at her heart-shaped face. The way her mouth scrunched and the way his thumb brushed her cheek, Jack guessed her to be crying while she threw her arms around her husband's neck and kissed him. No words could describe the suddenness of Jack doubting his own eyes, watching Eduardo Villanueva, a man who shot another for claiming raising pigs was a dirty peasant job, lost in his wife's eyes, just soaking in her presence, her proximity, and she the same way.

Ought to have been what Lucinda Esposito had, he thought, fighting the guilt tugging on his heart. A beautiful, witty woman like that chained to a man who didn't seem to give her the time of day while these two in front of him had twenty-two years together, in smarmy, sickening wedded bliss. Goes to show you love is brutal, he thought, putting an end to his eavesdropping to find Leech. Brutal, coming out of nowhere, striking at the most inconvenient times, reducing its victim to a hopeless whelp, and all the while, there was nothing to be done about it.

* * *

_caritas patiens est benigna est caritas non aemulatur non agit perperam non inflatur _

_non est ambitiosa non quaerit quae sua sunt non inritatur non cogitat malum _

_non gaudet super iniquitatem congaudet autem veritati _

_omnia suffert omnia credit omnia sperat omnia sustinet _

"'Love never fails.'" His mother always read that part in English, her favorite verse. Three words, yet always read slower and with more emphasis than the verses before it. Jack kept his hands in his pockets on the walk back to the _Pearl_, pondering how the Bible could be so fastidious in describing love and yet fail to really define it, and that's what needed to be sorted, right here and now. His fingers drummed on his compass inside his pocket, his brow knitted in thought. Leech had given up trying to converse a while ago, allowing silence and darkness to shield any distractions from himself.

About to be a new year, mate, and ye been wrestling with the same thing going on eight months now.

I don't want to discuss it.

Why? Afraid? No one will know what you're thinking.

Except me.

Well, that's the person who should know what you're thinking most of all now, isn't it, the very idea of not knowing what you yourself is thinking is not only grounds for madness, but is a might contradictory from all philosophical and theological knowledge of the self. I think; therefore, I am. Not to think means not to exist, and here you are in this mental limbo, which just proves my point that you yourself should be made fully aware of what you're thinking. Do you love her?

First things first now. Scientific Method and all that. Define love. He wracked every corner of his brain for the best definition, unable to recall any particularly poignant sayings about it. Well, how would Captain Jack Sparrow define love? He wouldn't, he shook his head, snorting at himself. Leech turned to him but then turned back to the road ahead of them.

Would you kill for her? In a way, he already had, recalling precisely where Barbossa had his pistol aimed and readied, a smug look of triumph on his face seconds before everyone jolted at the sound of a pistol being fired. Captain Jack Sparrow's pistol, he smiled. So, he thought, you see someone grapple with her, very likely since she has a talent for finding trouble. You'd shoot? Of course. He'd shoot for someone he didn't even know. Bad premise. Or maybe it's an easy premise?

Would you live for her? Ah, now that was a bit more thought-provoking, something that could truly be measured. Say she'd come up to you right this second and say she wanted to sail with you and you let her onboard, had your way with her and all. Jack smiled again. You'd want to make her happy? You'd be faithful to her? He twitched at the first thing that came into his head—that it would actually be fun to make her happy. Faithful? Would one woman, just one, every day until you die, be enough? He visualized what it would be like to wake up next to her, eat with her, steer the ship with her…her kiss the last thing he would feel before he closed his eyes for the night…Good Lord, if kissing her lips was anything close to what it felt like to kiss her wrist, he'd agree to anything she wanted, fidelity most likely lumped into said category. He could live for her and be more than happy doing it.

Stopping in the middle of his tracks, Jack inhaled, willing his breathing to return to normal. Pretending he'd stepped on something, he gestured for them to continue their journey.

Would you die for her? You'd risked everything to pull her out of the water before you even knew who she was, he reminded himself, remembering he knew full well it would probably result in some misfortune. Not the same, he shook his head. Would you take her place? Would you throw all that ingrained self-preservation out the window just so no harm would come to her? If it were between you and her, you could throw up your hand and say, "take me." Bloody hell, Jackie-boy, even the most romantic people in the world don't think you've got that in you.

Two for three. Not love. He sighed, relieved…and disappointed. Just means that it will pass, he told himself. Maybe it's the sort of thing that takes nine months instead of eight. Nothing could come of it anyway. Besides, one does have to have charge over one's own soul before anything else, meaning that key is to be picked up. He took out his compass. The red arrow could still be seen in spite of the darkness, but it did not point east towards the key.

* * *

**A/N: A lot of things to cite here, so bear with me. First off, I am completely making up Villanueva's back story except for the fact that he raises pigs and is semi-retired from piracy. That information is from the Pirates Wiki website. Also, I wasn't able to find a lot of information as to whether birthstones had become commonplace around this time or not. I think they did later on, but hey. If you want to read the one-shot where Jack does get to lay one on Elizabeth (her wrist) without a slap, that story is _Tristan, Iseult, and Rum _and it takes place on the journey back from Isla de Muerta to Port Royal before Jack's hanging. The Latin text is 1st Corinthians, Chapter 13, Verses 4-8. If you've ever been to a Christian wedding, you'll be familiar with it. It's a beautiful passage. "I think; therefore I am" is credited to Rene Descartes.**


	24. Chapter 24

98 Days Before

Elizabeth hurried down to the harbor, her skirt bunched up into her fists, hair toppling out of her bun. The thick heels of her shoes thudded against the stone pathway. She cut through fishmongers and sailors and soldiers until she caught sight of Lord Norton's bag slung over his back.

"Sebastian! Wait!"

He turned and stood on his tiptoes, setting his bag down and waiting for her to come to him. She skidded to a stop right in front of him.

"Elizabeth! I thought we'd said all our goodbyes back at the house."

"I have to know…" She caught her breath. "I have to know the truth. Did you tell my father you were recommending he stay on for his benefit? If you meant to spare his feelings…" She shook her head. "It would do us far more harm than good."

"It's nothing of the kind," he snapped, folding his arms. "I'm an honest man, Elizabeth, and I would certainly inform your father if he stood a chance of being removed and uprooting his entire life! Anything less would be cruel. Now, I won't lie to you and say my recommendation makes removal impossible, but the king is going to base his decision around it, I'll have you know. I had both of you read it, for goodness sake! What did you think, I'd write one up to humor you both and then present the king the real one when I returned? You can search my bag, deprive the ship of every single quill and ink bottle if you like…"

"No, I'm sorry I asked." They glanced out to the sea at the same time, each hoping to find some words of genius in it, some timeless wisdom that could wash over them.

"Elizabeth, let me ask you, do you feel safe here?" He waited for her to nod. "Why do you think I went on so many tours while I was here? Among other things, the people feeling safe even with a pirate raid taking place almost a year ago truly says something. Now, there are those here and in London…I won't mention any names, who would gladly see your father either resign or be sacked, but the king is a good man and I think he'll see right through them and feel as I do-- that their concern is motivated by their own personal gain and nothing more."

Elizabeth set her jaw, eager to mention at least one of those names if asked.

"The king may feel he needs to try a more involved method," she said.

"Of what? Preventing pirate raids? This is the Caribbean. Since this sea has existed, since every sea has existed, there have been pirates. It's a cynical way of looking at it, I'll admit, and I'm not trying to make light of it, seeing as how there were a few casualties and you were kidnapped, but compared to what else is out there in the world, it was tame. Before, it had been eight years since there had been any raid at all. Eight years! That's not coincidental with your father's arrival here."

"Or James' arrival," she muttered, looking back up at him. "What if they see that? James is more directly responsible for our safety than…" She trailed off and bit her lip, cursing herself.

"Commodore Norrington? Undoubtedly he's done a fine job here. Your father definitely knew who the right man was. It's actually refreshing to see a governor who knows he needs a strong team around him if anything's to be accomplished."

"That's how they'll look at it?" she asked.

"That's politics, I'm afraid. Social contract. You know of Locke? This is true of any leader. Take the king, for example. Who supports the king? The lords. When the king comes to power, there are certain responsibilities he must enforce, namely ones that achieve some common good, what's best for everyone involved. The lords, in return, give the king support, let him keep that power. They had to have had faith in the king to begin with or something drastic would have happened, you know." He waited for her to nod. "Now how is the king to function if he can't trust his lords? The king keeps a close circle of confidants, advisors, those who have experience and know the environment. It's all very give-and-take, Elizabeth, and a good king, a good leader, understands that. So yes, your father appointing Commodore Norrington was an excellent decision. His record is spotless. I'd like to meet him. Everything he touches seems to turn to gold," he laughed. "It would have to take some vastly dire circumstances for anything to tarnish that good name, much like your father's." He placed his hand on her shoulder. "Now, goodbye, Elizabeth. I would love to be able to stay for your wedding, but since I can't, I wish you nothing but love and happiness."

Watching him climb up the plank onto the _Monarch_, Elizabeth stayed planted on the pier while it casted off into the sunrise, the orange and pink promise of a new day meshing with Lord Norton's words.

They stayed with her on the lone walk back to the house, Rhoda probably still working on breakfast. Her fingers suddenly itched at the idea of stirring thick batter and scooping up handfuls of fresh blueberries to bake into muffins. They were never delectable or mouth watering when she baked them, but they were hearty enough to fill stomachs and fluffy enough to look appetizing, and the labor of all of it would give her something to steady her hands.

Heart pumping and skin shiny from the incline up to the house, she pushed open the door and threw her hat over one of the parasol handles hanging out from their stand. The morning rays lit up the foyer, warming rectangular patches of the floor. She inhaled the natural smell of the winter sun and crossed behind the stairs to go through the sitting room out to the kitchen. It would be a lazy sort of day, she predicted, at least an hour or two before her father would come down for breakfast. She flung open the sitting room door.

"Oh, my God."

Elizabeth froze, her mouth dropping open, her cheeks feeling like they were on fire. On the sofa, Perkins leapt off of Estrella and dove onto the other side of it, grabbing his trousers that had been draped over it. Estrella's arm fumbled around on the floor for her dress, her other one snaked over her chest.

Elizabeth backed out of the sitting room and closed the door, her palm over her own mouth to stifle any screaming. Blind. That was the only word she could conjure, a one-word silent prayer half-hoping, half-expecting to be stricken blind in seconds.

"Miss Elizabeth!" she heard Estrella's muffled cry from the other side of the door. The doorknob jiggled beneath her hand. Understanding why Eve ate the forbidden fruit, she turned and opened the door again, face to face with Estrella, dressed. It was the first time in the entire ten years she'd worked for them that Elizabeth saw her hair down, full jet black curls down to the pits of her arms, her full cheeks and dainty, gentle features glowing. Past her, Perkins was dressed but standing stunned next to the sofa.

"Miss Elizabeth," he said, wringing his vest. "Please…please don't tell your father. We…it was a spur of the moment…Estrella had nothing to do with it," he stuttered. "I mean, I, I forced myself on her."

"How long has this been going on?" she choked out.

"Since you got engaged," he said.

"What?"

"Please, Miss Elizabeth, if our years of service have meant anything to you." He ran to her and dropped onto his knees, clasping her hand. "I've been saving up, ye see, so I need this job."

"Saving up for what?" she asked, knowing she looked as dumbfounded as she felt. Perkins looked over at Estrella, then the floor, then back up at Elizabeth.

"Marriage," he mouthed, glancing once more at Estrella, sighing at her lack of reaction.

"What?" She snatched her hand back. "You two are at each other like cats and dogs every day. I, I don't understand." She fell back into a chair, right across from the sofa, the cushions of which she envisioned withering in a bonfire.

"Ben, let me talk to her, please," Estrella said, twisting her hair into a tail before gathering it up into a bun.

"I need to know if I'm going to stay on," he argued.

"Just go, Perkins," Elizabeth ordered.

"May I sit with you, miss?" She picked her cap up off the floor and scooted one of the chairs next to hers. "I, I apologize, miss. The sitting room is no place to be carrying on in that manner." They looked back to make sure Perkins had left the room.

"When you explained to me what my wedding night would be like," she began in a dead tone. "All that experience you spoke of—that was with him, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Estrella said. "There's been no one else."

Elizabeth shuddered, phrases and images from that conversation suddenly taking a horrid turn.

"Ben—Perkins admitted he had feelings for me the day you got engaged, miss. Seeing all your dreams about to come true sort of inspired him, I suppose…and inspired me to act on mine." She shot her a shy smile. "I've known him since I was sixteen years old, miss. Now, I know he's saving up to get married, so it's not like my honor's completely gone. We'd live in a house and he'd still come here and work for your father and I could have a home of me own…"

"Why didn't you tell me any of this?"

Estrella bit her lip and folded her hands.

"Estrella, I've included you in so much, and you have plans to leave and you never said a word. Were you ever going to tell me you loved him?" Elizabeth's eyes flashed, her nostrils flaring. "I know we're not supposed to be friends, but we are. You know we are! Did you think I would force you both to lose your jobs just because you're in love?"

"With all due respect, miss, I know you don't tell me everything."

"Oh?" This would be rich, she thought. "You better have some strong evidence of that. I've told you things that I've never even told Will. It doesn't take a prodigy to know how much I trusted you when Jack was stuck in Port Royal and I needed you to help me."

"And it don't take elephant ears to hear how you moan his name at night either."

She could feel the color drain from her face, every ounce of anger withdrawing into humility. Her jaw went limp, unable to argue, too betrayed by her own body to voice the question on the tip of her tongue, how a few dreams every now and then could render her so undone.

"You're lucky your father sleeps like a log, miss," Estrella said. "I'll tell ye now so Mr. Turner don't have to know, but ye talk in your sleep sometimes, and when you do, it's always the same name over and over again."

Elizabeth's head sank onto her knees.

"Miss," Estrella continued. "I know you love Mr. Turner, and I don't expect ye to approve of me in any way, but…thing is, I've moaned out Perkins' name like that, if that helps you to understand. I love him, miss. I'm begging ye, if ye have to sack me, fine, but at least keep him on." Her face tightened into a sheepish blush. "Ye see how he tried to lie to ye and say he forced himself on me?"

Feeling tears well up in her eyes and her shoulders trembling at the lack of understanding why, Elizabeth leaned over and took Estrella in her arms, the first woman she'd hugged since her mother was alive. Not releasing her until after she'd felt Estrella's arms return the embrace, Elizabeth sank back into the chair, her eyes up at the ceiling.

"You're a better liar than I ever imagined, Estrella," she breathed.

"You're the one covering for pirates, miss, not me." They let out an exhausted giggle. "You really won't tell your father? We'll be more careful. I promise."

"Why don't you keep it out in the stable, on a bed of hay?" Elizabeth asked, blushing at her forwardness. "Less chance of being caught."

"Miss, you'll find when you're in love a little bit of danger makes things exciting."

* * *

**A/N: Yes, people did eat blueberry muffins back then, I checked. The food items are one of the most fun things to research. Paula J. Newman plays Estrella and if you want to see what a beautiful woman she is, I recommend you go on the Internet Movie Database and look her up. This is technically the end of Part 2, ending on January 3. Part 3 will begin on March 1. **


	25. Chapter 25

41 Days Before

Icy raindrops shot down from the green sky above them, slicing away at Jack's face. Blinking through them, he could just barely make out the men's coats and hats, slicked from exposure, securing the rigging. The wind howling all around them, the _Black Pearl _creaked in fear. Her sails flapped in angry spasms. He leapt down off the steps onto the main deck, splashing dark water up onto his trousers and the tip of his coat. Already feeling his feet numbing from the cold, they jumped back at the sound of something screeching beside them.

"Oy, ye drowned rat," he sighed, scooping up the monkey and tossing him onto Gibbs' shoulder. "How far back's the _Dauntless_?"

"Good way's away," Gibbs said. "Jack, we need to bring the _Pearl _into port. She won't last out here much longer. Hurricane's what it is."

Jack knew, sordid tales of men lost at sea and entire towns devastated with the survivors turning on each other all too prominent.

"Cabin," he said. "Now."

The two tugged open the cabin door, wedging themselves through the tight space to keep out the rising water. The lamps convulsed with the reeling ship, the light flickering just right so the overhead above them appeared uneven. Sliding everything on the desk to the floor, they unfolded every chart, running their fingers along the white veins of each one.

"Tripoli's closest."

"Closest for Norrington, too," Gibbs said, eyes still scanning. "Although I can't say I see a better place. Ye say we chance it?"

"I'd rather battle him than nature," Jack mumbled to himself, biting his tongue at the fact the same ocean that gave him such smooth sailing, such adventures, such freedom, was now being so vicious. Unscrupulous, he thought, even without an even more unscrupulous goddess having charge over it. Inhaling at what all awaited him on the other side of the door, he held his breath and squeezed back through it, Gibbs right behind him. "Starboard! Ride the onshore wind!" If anything, it would launch them into a dock too fast, but nothing could be done about it now. Each stinging raindrop seemed to be severing his eyelashes, but he peered through it, squinting for an outline of land. At last a dark strip of land manifested from the storm, minarets stretching up to the sky.

"We have an offing," he breathed. "Full speed!"

The churning water rolled the _Pearl _ever closer. Jack ran his hands over the rail. Just like that, girl. Ye been through worse, much, much worse. Easy does it now. She glided right up to a dock for him, the crew zigzagging everywhere to secure her.

"Tie her off and get inside!" Gibbs called to them, his hands busy with rope, stumbling through the calf-deep water. "Keep to the Code!"

The water lunging the ship all over the place, he wondered if her mast would tangle with the ship next to her.

"Jack! Jack, everyone's off! Let's go!"

He sprinted down the plank to catch up with Gibbs and ran down the shaky pier, a few trees already down and obstructing their path to the town.

"Help! Help me!"

Tripping over the trunk of one of the palm trees, Jack fell to his knees and stumbled back at the sound of a voice beneath him. Thrusting his hands into the drenched leaves, he brushed the round, full cheeks of a man, face enclosed in a sheen of rain. Nudging against the trunk, Jack shoved it off of him, the strain stealing his breath and locking out his shoulders. He felt a kink near his neck and grunted until the man rolled over, bracing the pier with the palms of his hands and coughing out some sea water. Without a word, Jack hoisted him up by the back of his shirt and ran blindly into the nearest building, throwing himself against the door once he was inside.

"Glad to see ye made it, Captain," Marty said from some stairs leading into a cellar. "Mosque of some kind, good storage down here."

"Thank you…th-thank you." The man shivered, a swarthy, full face set on a stocky body.

"Captain, let's get this poor soul some blankets and something in his belly, eh?" Gibbs said, leading the man down the stairs. "Marty wasn't exaggerating, sir. Some good fruit, breads, some kind of tea down here. How long's it been since any of us had tea? Can't even remember rightly."

"Place to get a fire going?" Jack asked, keeping his eyes on this stranger with whom they'd be sharing this shelter.

"Aye, fire pit. Now, sir…don't know what your background might be, but as a long-time sailor myself, start with the boots. Get those off and let 'em dry by the fire. Feels like they've got one going, Jack. See, back when I was with the Royal Navy, any time our feet got wet, some poor sot'd get sick and then that'd be the last we'd see of him. There, just sit down there and get warmed up. We'll be bringin' by some of that hot tea we told ye about." Gibbs smiled at him and turned back to Jack, his eyebrow raised. Bustling over to him, he leaned in and whispered. "Best find out what he's doing here and what's in that satchel?"

Jack looked over, the husky man hugging a large bag to his chest.

"He came in with that?" Jack asked, wishing the cup of tea placed in his hand by one of the crewman was rum instead. On second thought, maybe not if you're already seeing things, mate…or not seeing them.

"Since he came down here, anyway."

"Never mind. I'll square this away. Door barred?" They glanced back at the door. "Have someone keep a sharp eye. I ain't so much in the mood to call a truce with Norrington, even for a hurricane." Tossing his hair over his shoulder, feeling cold drops of water sprinkle down the back of his shirt, he strutted over to the man and took a seat next to him. "Nothing quite like a roaring fire and a hot drink to lift one's spirits, eh?"

"You're a very good man…Jack Sparrow."

"So you've heard of me, very flattering, but you have me at a disadvantage now, seeing as I don't know your name." Pistol will be nothing but wet powder, he thought, tracing the edge of his chair with his fingertips in preparation to draw his sword.

"A very good man, but you don't like that to be common knowledge, do you?" The man smiled and leaned over to Jack. "That's why I have something for you." He patted the bag and laughed. "I figured it was only a matter of time before you needed it. Would you care to hear a story, Jack Sparrow? One about the ancient world, when men weren't so afraid to talk to the gods?"

Jack could only think of one other person besides himself who had such a talent for attracting trouble, pretending to flick away some lint on his coat to reach his sword.

"You know the story of Odysseus? That long, long story that's really just about going home? I assume you do, seem educated. Aeolus, King of the Winds, bestowed upon Odysseus a bag of wind, strong enough to take him all the way home to Ithaca. What an easy journey that would have been, just releasing a bit of wind as needed. But he made a mistake, that Odysseus, not telling his men. They came upon it while he was sleeping, believed it to be treasure he was hiding from them. Well, treasure it was, I can tell you, but not like what they thought. Just as all of Ithaca's cliffs peeked out from the horizon, they ripped open the bag and lengthened their story."

Jack said nothing, recalling long, long discussions with the tutor Mum worked extra hours to hire.

"Tell me, Jack Sparrow, do you grow tired of your kindness earning you nothing but punishment?" Jack raised a finger, bottom lip dropped open to formulate a rebuttal, but the man continued. "I should tell you being good is its own reward, and it is, it is. But it does need to be encouraged every now and then." Holding out his bag like the knights of old handed off swords of fallen comrades, he set the bag in Jack's lap.

Jack puckered his lips and pushed them side to side. Patting the bag, it felt stuffed, like a child's soft toy. Velvet, he noted, the crushed brown material catching the firelight. Ye really will have to start your memoirs sometime, mate. No one would dare believe it all. Back to the matter at hand, he could give the madman back his imaginary friend, or he could play along and cherish the thing.

"I haven't anything to give you in return," he began, cringing at the forced tone.

"You would be missing the point if you did," the man said with a smile. "That is a reward, something that usually follows a great act, not precedes. You hold onto that, Jack Sparrow. Calypso may have interest in you, but there are others of us that would like to throw you a safety line, so to speak."

A madman that's heard of me and has deduced Tia Dalma is Calypso, he told himself. Simple. Believable. Possible. Ye yourself knew who she was after a time, mate. Aye, so why discredit magic now? Because it's not a particular key and chest and therefore filler, superfluous, excessive, handed-down-by-a-madman filler.

"I shall take this bag of wind and use it wisely," he heard himself say, shifting the bag around in his lap to give it some reverence.

"Good! Now that we have that settled, I'll take some more of that tea."

* * *

Jack stayed awake, the roaring wind outside keeping him company. At any moment, the crew of the _Dauntless _could barge in and slaughter them all so as little trouble as dancing a reel.

"Jack? Jack, we can do this in shifts." Gibbs crawled over to him at the same time Jack fingered what he knew were bags forming under his eyes.

"Too tired to argue that one," he yawned. Too tired, too vexed, and too caged. "Keep one eye on our friend we picked up from the docks, eh? The most harmless looking ones always end up being the most lethal. Savvy?"

"Aye, er, he didn't venture outside to take a piss, did he?"

Jack snorted.

"It ain't in jest, Jack. Where is he?"

Snapping his head in the direction of the fireplace, he craned his neck to zero in on the sleeping faces of his crew.

"Not another room adjoining this one?" he asked.

"This is it. Stairs here leading up the only way out." They each raised an eyebrow at the same time, exchanging thoughtful expressions, scanning the room again. Picking up the bag, he teetered it from one hand to another, batting it aimlessly.

"Ain't that the damndest thing?" Gibbs said, scratching his chin. "Well, at least we won't be takin' on any extra weight when we leave. What is the plan when we leave?"

"Straight to Constantinople, mate, no stops. And then…" He trailed off and grinned over at Gibbs, soaking in the anticipation. "We go back to the Caribbean." He grinned wider at Gibbs' cheered face before eyeing the bag again. "At lickety-split pace."

* * *

**A/N: Well, POTC does employ supernatural themes once in a while, but I am leaving this one up to interpretation and therefore not fully confessing to introducing a literal "deus ex machina" into this. Maybe I felt I was being very hard on Jack, but I wanted to throw him a bone for once.**


	26. Chapter 26

38 Days Before

Sinking her teeth into the shepherd's pie, Elizabeth could feel each juicy cut of lamb and every vegetable melt in her mouth. After what felt like an entire day of peeling, chopping, roasting, and baking, she closed her eyes to make the meal last as long as possible. She still smelled like thyme and grains of pepper clung to her hairline, but neither Father nor Will seemed to notice. The three ate in silence, the ticking clock and the erratic wind outside serenading them.

"Sir? Lieutenant Groves to see you," Fisher said after knocking on the dining room door.

"Oh?" Governor Swann stood and dabbed his chin with his napkin. "Elizabeth, is there enough to invite him to join us?" She nodded, her eyes never leaving the door. "Fisher, see him in."

"Good evening, Governor Swann, Miss Elizabeth, Mr. Turner," Groves said, wringing his hat and standing so close to the door his back was almost pressed up against it.

"Evening, lieutenant, evening! Would you care to join us? Elizabeth made this herself. It's not every day you get a nice home-cooked meal! Estrella, fetch another plate for Lieutenant Groves." Estrella curtsied and hustled back into the kitchen.

"Sir, something's come to our attention at the fort…is there a place we can talk privately?" Groves crossed to the empty chair next to Will, but loomed over it, his hand hovering over its back. Giving everyone at the table one last wide-eyed stare for approval, he squeezed into the chair as soundlessly as he could, his boots scuffing against the legs. "Sir…" He glanced at Elizabeth. "We've received word from Commodore Norrington."

Elizabeth leaned forward in her chair, holding her breath.

"Sir, we have a situation."

She let out a deep exhale, eliminating Jack's capture or death as the reason for Groves' visit, but then straightened at the sight of Will raising an eyebrow at her.

"The _Dauntless _is no more," Groves blurted, spooning a large portion of the shepherd's pie into his mouth, chewing the lamb with some reluctance.

"No more? What on earth happened?"

"The Commodore gave the order to sail in less than agreeable weather," Groves gulped, setting his spoon onto the plate, his shaking hand causing it to rattle. "There was a hurricane, and, well…"

"He sailed through a hurricane?" Governor Swann coughed, the motion knocking over his drink. "How many men did we lose?"

"The Commodore was the only one who survived, sir. They'll be receiving their military funerals tomorrow, the families notified tonight. I can't imagine there being a sadder time to be living in Port Royal than now."

"Summon Commodore Norrington here at once."

Elizabeth opened her mouth, but shut it, watching her father tremble with rage.

"Fifty men dead? The most feared ship the Royal Navy has in this region gone?" he asked.

"With all due respect, sir, no one could punish James as much as he's already punished himself. That's why I came by. He notified all his officers by letter he's resigned his commission." He flinched at the gasps emitting from the table. "I brought it and will show it to you, sir, but the gist is that he knew as soon as he washed up on shore and learned all his men were dead that he could either resign honorably or submit to a court martial."

"Where is he now?"

"I have no idea, sir."

"What?" Governor Swann stood. "You have no idea? He couldn't have just disappeared off the edge of the map! He has a house here! If he sent you a letter, he must be at an address."

"Sir, he sent in his maid's pay and recommendations for her to secure another job somewhere else. You know James. He's always so maddeningly prepared. If he made no plans to return to his house, than there isn't anything there he wants or needs. The letter came through London, where he resigned. He could be anywhere by now. He has no family…he's a free agent in a big world, sir. I honestly have no idea where he could be at this moment."

"But who were we supposed to notify in the event of his death? Surely he has some connections somewhere!"

"A cousin was all."

"Cousin?" Governor Swann paced to the window, his hand flat against his forehead. Elizabeth gestured for Estrella to come and clear the table, planting herself back into the present.

"Did, did…was that all he sent?" she asked from her seat.

"Miss Elizabeth, I sent your letter for him to London, assuming he might have left some forwarding address with them. I'm sorry. I had no way of knowing where to send it before we'd heard from him."

She nodded and left the table, hurrying up the stairs to her room. She sat on the edge of her bed, arms tensed at her sides. Her head pounded, but her eyes fixated on the soft purple twilight outside the window, the ocean still. Memories flooded her mind to the point she could barely remember this last morning, James showing her how to load a musket, laughing at her smudged fingers and dress after cleaning it. The days out sailing, the chess matches—all of it gone.

"Elizabeth?"

"Will, you shouldn't be up here. Father always admired your decorum."

"Then you come out here to me."

Elizabeth rose and sat next to him on the cushioned bench in the wide corridor, the lamps accentuating the concern on his face. His hand swept over hers, not latching onto it, just on top of it.

"I'm fine, Will, just so tired of goodbyes, that's all."

"I wish I knew what to say to make you feel better."

She flashed him a sad smile and nestled next to him, still feeling empty. Maybe once they were married she would start to feel that warmth and invincibility being in his arms was supposed to evoke instead of this urge to kiss his cheek and pat his head and say "I'm watching over you, Will," as she had when they'd met. Sometimes it seemed that little boy had never left.

"It's hard to be the only one to survive a shipwreck," Will said, starting to massage her hand a little. "It would have been better for the Commodore to return, be with someone who cared about him." His eyes found hers. "He'll regret it, you know—rejecting your friendship."

"I can't blame him. I'd rejected his love, you remember." Her head fell back against the wall. "We were close, had some similar interests, and he already loved me. I'm so selfish." She took in Will's confusion. "There was no good reason to turn down his proposal…or break the engagement. It was just…selfishness."

"You don't have a selfish bone in your body," Will said, squeezing her hand. "A selfish woman wouldn't be concerned about him at all."

That just begged the question as to what kind of selfish she was, she thought about saying, but gave him a sheepish smirk instead and laid her head on his shoulder, wondering where in the world James was now, what kind of life he would make for himself. Without his honor, he had nothing, and it was that kind of life—a life with nothing to lose or no one to fight for, that Elizabeth feared more than anything.

"Will," she said. "Would you be willing to go with me to his house and clear it out?"

"You really don't think he'll be back?"

"It's not hard to figure James out, Will." She flipped her hand over and squeezed his back. "It would help me be able to say goodbye."

"He's not dead," Will said before biting his lip. "I'd just hate for you to try to forget all about your friendship." They stood and she took his arm to go down the stairs. "Are you sure nothing else is bothering you? You know, Lieutenant Groves didn't mention the _Black Pearl _getting destroyed. I'm sure Jack is doing well for himself." He snorted. "Of course, that's provided he and the _Pearl _are anywhere near each other. He does have a tendency to lose her."

Elizabeth laughed and nuzzled Will's shoulder on the way back to the dining room.

* * *

37 Days Before

James' cottage boasted a few filled flower pots and romantic paintings of ships on the walls, but Elizabeth gave out a mournful laugh at the sparseness of the place, a true bachelor pad, but an orderly one, she thought with a shrug. The maid unlocked the door for them before heading to the fort to turn in the key, leaving her and Will in the living room where the fireplace mantle stretched from one end of the wall to the other.

"Modest," Will said.

"And to think I might have been the lady of the house," she mused out loud, stooping over to stack some fallen sheet music. Her left hand mimicked the positions it would make on a guitar for the chords. Reaching underneath the bookcase to snatch up the cover sheet, she gasped and let it flutter back to the floor.

"What's wrong?"

"Oh! I…" Be fearless with him for once. "Look at the name of the composition."

"'Elizabeth,'" he read, taking the sheet from her. Tightening his lips, he returned it to her and went back to the desk, shutting the atlases and gathering them up into his arms.

"Will, he wrote me a song," she said, stuffing the sheet music into a folder. "It's not something we can exactly donate to the fort."

"If you want to keep it, you can keep it."

"Will!"

He looked up at her, his face still.

"You don't have anything to say about it?" she asked.

"Did you want me to be jealous?"

"Well, no, of course not, but I thought it might spur some reaction, some comment. Doesn't it make you feel even sorrier for him?"

"Not really. He had his chance with you." He broke eye contact and tossed a bottle of dried ink into the garbage sack. "That doesn't change your mind about him, does it?"

"No, the very idea of it is actually incestuous." She twisted a lock of hair around her fingers. "James was always like an older brother."

"And was capable of dramatic gestures of love also, from the looks of it," Will snapped. Elizabeth took a step back, her fingernails itching for flesh, but her tongue tripped over itself again and again in her mouth. "I never exactly had the money or opportunity to learn any of that," he said, nodding at the folder.

"You only came to my rescue when no one else would."

Will let out a faint smile.

"I made my choice, just like you said." She crossed over to him and picked up his hand in hers, clasping it with her other one.

* * *

**A/N: I looked and looked and still have no idea what kind of ship the _Dauntless _is, nor how many it would take to crew it. Fifty seemed right because it's a huge ship and also because they would need as many people as possible to not only sail it, but do all the capturing and law enforcing necessary to be a Naval ship. If it turns out to be considerably less, then I suppose Governor Swann was just exaggerating when he said fifty, eh? Sorry these last two chapters have been short. They'll start getting a little lengthier soon. There are 36 chapters altogether, so welcome to the home stretch! If you've been enjoying the story, or even if you haven't and have constructive criticism to offer, please leave a review! I do not own POTC.**


	27. Chapter 27

37 Days Before

Jack tiptoed down the stone spiral staircase of the prison. With each step, the stench of rotting meat permeated more and more until it blended in with the air so well that Jack decided holding his breath would be a fruitless effort. The wardens outside busied themselves with prodding a skeleton of a man so emaciated all that was left of him was his nose and spine. Jack conjured the image of a bird in a cage when he crept past them, the ebony of the night sky concealing him and the blackbirds circling overhead.

Going in with only one pistol and a knife, he kept an eye on the steps, knowing it was too much to expect a sword or even a loose chain to just be left discarded. His eyes watered as the odor blew over him at the end of the staircase. Lifting a torch out of its holder just to the side of the doorway, Jack leapt into the dark room with it held out in front of him.

From the ceiling, rows of bones dangled, most of them full skeletons extending almost six feet down. A buzzing resounded down at his knees. Adjusting the torch, he could see specks of flies hovering over pink and orange lumps, some tinged with a milky white hue. Sliding his leg out to make his way around the sea of muscles and ligaments, he skidded on the slippery surface. Sighing at the fact only the bottoms of his boots were sullied, he remembered making the choice to leave his coat on the _Pearl_. If he fell and the hem of his coat brushed against this slimy mess, it wouldn't do to keep it after that. He would have just had to give the order for the ship to make port somewhere so he could burn it. Just to be extra cautious, he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows.

"Falkenburg?" he hissed into the darkness. Further into the torture chamber, he eyed fresher bodies hanging from the ceiling, chained by the wrists.

A hoarse, phlegm-filled cough echoed back.

"Falkenburg!" he whispered louder, maneuvering around the maggot-infested mounds of flesh. Making sure his trousers were tucked tightly into his boots, he wound around to the back corner on his left. The man was all ribs, purple blotches plaguing his skin. Deep-set eyes stared down at Jack, violet sacks dripping below his eyes. His arms were positioned above him, hung from the ceiling like a rabbit. Jack bit his lip. He'd planned on freeing the man once he found him, but Captain Falkenburg seemed about ready to snap like a twig at the slightest touch. "Just sit tight there, my good man. We'll have you out of here and a member of me crew before you can say 'a pirate's life for me.'"

"No way…out," Falkenburg coughed. Jack held his breath, climbing atop a little podium reserved for hanging prisoners. He cringed when he could not tell what was rope and what was skin. The rest of the poor buggers looked like they had been chained to the hooks on the ceiling.

"There's always a way out, mate." Jack took out a small knife and began sawing at the thick strands.

"You…ack, come for the cloth?" Only the man's eyes seemed to move. "Pocket."

"I got one more," Jack said, ignoring the information. "Just a couple rules now. I'm the captain, no discussion there. Second rule, if you get the order to douse the lights, you douse the lights. The _Pearl'_s not solid black for nothing. Third rule…well, pirate ships don't have that many rules…as a rule, ha ha, but we are a sorry lot what could benefit from some. Hope you like sweet grog." Running out of rambling, Jack peered down. The eyes that reacted with such surprise to hearing a human voice now lay still.

"Falkenburg?" Jack asked, tapping the side of the man's face. Hopping down from the podium, he pricked the man's exposed torso with his knife. "Sorry I couldn't get here sooner, mate. But…" Jack said, eyes drifting to Falkenburg's trouser pockets, "since your last act was one of charity, I believe a flight of angels'll sing thee to thy rest. God speed." Digging through both of them at the same time, he felt the soft, slightly frayed cloth and rolled it up.

About to blow out the torch once he made his way back to the doorway, he remembered to just place it back on the wall. Sneaking up the stairs would prove harder than sneaking down them. He kept his knife out. Not like this place needs anymore guts lying all over, he mused, but when desperate times arise…

The caged men outside remained, pecked away by the lingering blackbirds, their screams flying over Jack's head and pulling at his stomach.

Where were the wardens?

At the end of the narrow bridge leading to the main building of the labyrinthine prison, the wardens heaved massive wooden boxes out into the black emerald sea. Coffins, Jack observed, the heads of the nails glistening in the torchlight, dozens splayed out. Crawling behind them, he watched the wardens pound the nails in and dump the contents. Each one plunged far from the jagged rocks just below the building, and small wonder considering the arms of the men.

Jack scrambled over to one of the coffins in the pile and lifted the heavy lid, his arm tensing at the burden. A small, ragged body lay inside, an eyeless grin looking up at him. The smell dove into his throat and grabbed at his stomach, straining to pull it up out of his mouth. Closing his eyes and shaking his head, he wiggled inside the coffin with the corpse, its frame narrow and petite, either that of a woman or a boy. Straddling it, he let his legs slide down further until both their hips touched. Face to face with his nose-less, hairless companion, he waited.

Had there been more room, he could have pulled the cloth from his pocket and examine it. Too late now as to whether the key was actually drawn on it or not. He'd sail back to Tortuga and wallop Gabriel and Anamaria both if the stories all turned out to be hoaxes. Somehow, however, he knew the rolled up clue in his pocket to be genuine, and soon enough, he'd see the key itself.

At last, he felt the sensation of being lifted. Foreign conversation muffled its way into the coffin before the pounding of a hammer. Jack shifted his legs to avoid the rusty nails driving their way through the lid. Again, he felt the coffin being lifted by the men, followed by a jerky swaying back and forth. He closed his eyes and prepared himself for the fall about to come. If he vomited now, he would just have to lie in it, inhaling it, feeling it soaking up his shirt. Ramming into the side of the coffin, he closed his eyes even tighter.

The fall lasted a lifetime, ending in a nauseating smack into the water. Wedged in between the corpse and the side of the coffin, Jack's arm and side throbbed from the hard splash. Narrow streams of water slithered their way into the coffin, shiny worms tapping against his boots. Finally, the water regurgitated it with a loud gurgle. Ah, time to get out. Fumbling off of the corpse as best he could, he reached for his pistol.

* * *

"Time's run out, Jack."

The soft rhythm of the cascading waterfall of sand ended with the rum bottle shattering to the floor. Jack backed away, lifting the lantern into the darkest corner of the _Pearl_, the outline of a man appearing. He shuffled through the sand and broken glass until the light shined on a slick, waxen face, framed by dripping strands of seaweed and hair. A roach skittered across the cheek. He knew that face, knew it from his nightmares.

"Bootstrap? Bill Turner?"

"You look good, Jack," he slopped out, the corners of his mouth tilted up just like they had in the past. Jack straightened, his ears and cheeks burning, able to hear his own heartbeat.

"Is this a dream?" he asked, remembering nights of drinking and swapping stories after days of business ventures as well as pirating—they went back that far. You look good, Jack…what the bloody hell kind of thing is that to say, like they had just pulled into an active port or something equally mundane.

"No."

"I thought not. If it were there'd be rum." Also just like the old days. Bill reached out his soaked arm, gripping a bottle by the neck. Noting the similar textures, Jack took hold of it and pried Bill's clammy fingers from it.

"You got the _Pearl _back, I see."

"I had some help retrieving the _Pearl_, by the way," he said. "Your son." Was there time to fill a father in on…how long had it been since Bill had mentioned stopping and seeing the family…at least ten years… No amount of time could compensate him for that. Just as well, Jack thought, not sure to begin with the fact Will had resorted to jail breaking or the fact Will had resorted to threaten Barbossa with suicide or the fact Will had resorted to curtailing an unprecedented execution.

"William?" Bill's face fell, his sunken-in eyes growing even heavier. "He ended up a pirate after all."

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your carbuncle?"

"He sent me. Davy Jones."

Jack hoped his face was frozen, the childlike, unfounded wish on a shooting star that Davy Jones somehow did not have anything to do with Bill's impromptu visit coming up futile. So is this what the Angel of Death looks like, he thought, Bill's face resembling putty so closely he wondered if he touched him if it would alter the shape.

"Ah, so it's you then." My own personal Angel of Death…and yet, the certainty of death could not be found. Jack raised an eyebrow, appalled at himself for feeling no different. No dread…yet, or even that spooky sense of peace everyone talks about. Stall, mate. Stall. "He shanghaied you into service, he?"

"I chose it," Bill said, with a little more bark. "I'm sorry for the part I played in the mutiny against you, Jack. I stood up for you. Everything went wrong after that." He slammed his hand down over a roach and popped the wriggling thing into his mouth as if it were a piece of candy. Jack's tongue flicked out on impulse. "They strapped me to a cannon. I ended up at the bottom of the ocean, the weight of the water crushing down on me. Unable to move, unable to die, Jack. I thought even the tiniest hope of escaping this fate, I would take it. I would trade anything for it."

And now you've had years to rehearse that speech. Jack shifted so his side faced Bill. "It's funny what a man will do to forestall his final judgment."

"You made a deal with him, too, Jack." Bill blocked him from moving any further, something he'd never dared try in his past life, the first mate of the _Wicked Wench_ physically standing up to her Captain. Good lord, _Wicked Wench_, Jack thought. He hadn't thought about that name for years, hadn't really thought about that life for years. You'll have plenty of time to think about it on the _Dutchman_, he thought, paling.

"He raised the _Pearl _from the depths for you," Bill continued. "Thirteen years you been captain."

"Technically…"

"Jack, you won't be able to talk yourself out of this," he said with a vehement shake of the head, pity in his eyes. "The terms that apply to me apply to you as well: one soul bound to crew one hundred years upon his ship."

"Well, the _Flying Dutchman _already has a captain, so there's really no…"

"Then it's the Locker for you!" Jack's lips tightened. "Jones' terrible leviathan will find you and drag the _Pearl _back to the depths and you along with it."

Drowning, if not gobbled up by the monster lurking in the shadows, he twitched, the gorier, darker elements of Mum's fairy tales circling in Jack's mind, along with the old nightmares—the tentacles, the rushing water around him, nothingness…

"Any idea when Jones might release said terrible beastie?"

"I already told you, Jack. The time is up. It will come, drawn with ravenous hunger, to the man what bears the Black Spot." Bill took Jack's hand and slid his fingers across it, then turning them so the backs could partake, the color and texture so alien Jack couldn't tell if he was wearing gloves or not. Bill passed him without a word, out of the light, allowing Jack to bring up his hand and wipe away the slimy residue. Instead, something that looked like a black mole swirled out until it covered his whole hand, spiraling outward like a hurricane. It will come. It will come to the man what bears the Black Spot.

Snapping his head up, Jack blinked at Bill's disappearance before self-preservation took over entirely.

"On deck, all hands! Make fast the bunt gasket! On deck, you scallys! Movement! I want movement!" He could hear the hammocks creaking, men thudding to the floor and thrusting their feet into their boots, hushed whispers of panic flying through the _Pearl _as fast as Jack ran back up the steps and onto the deck. "Run! Keep running! Run as if the devil himself and itself is upon us!"

Gibbs finally caught up to him, his face flushed and creased with bedsores. "Do we have a heading?"

"Run! Land!"

"Which port?"

"I didn't say port. I said land. Any land!" He could imagine it so well, the ship crushed in two before any of them ever saw it coming, the massive tentacles of the kraken coiling around any who survived the initial attack, its beak-like mouth their fate. The last thing they would know would be the stench of sea water coupled with countless human carcasses.

Before he could even shudder at the thought, Jack the monkey swung down and lifted his hat right off his head, hurling it into the water with a proud shriek.

"Jack's hat!" Gibbs shouted. "Clear about."

"No, no!" Jack ordered. "Leave it. Run!" Every eye was on him, mutinous, suspicious, terrified eyes that would all be dragged to the depths or watch the same thing happen to him. No…no, he ran back to the cabin and braced himself against the bulkhead.

"Back to your stations, the lot of ye!" he heard Gibbs yell. "Jack?" Think. Bloody hell, why can't you think?

"Jack."

"Shh!" Think. Land. Fast. Now.

"For the love of Mother and Child, Jack, what's after us?"

"Nothing."

_"Jackie, get in here and sit in this tub this instant."_

_"No!"_

_"Why not?" Mum's long chestnut hair, streaked gold, toppled over her shoulder as her neck craned, patting her leg for Jackie, four and naked and adamant, to come over to her. "You love the water."_

_"The bubbles." He walked over to his mother with his hands covering his eyes._

_"The bubbles?" She gathered some of the soapy mess in her hand._

_"Can't see the water…or me…" He spread his fingers to see if his mother understood. After a blank look, she sighed and placed both her hands in the tub._

_"You just clear a path, love_. Facile_." Extending her hand, he took it and stepped into the bathtub. Bending down, he splashed through the bubbles until he could see the surface of the tub through the water. He shot a tentative, crooked grin up at her. Smiling back, she picked up the washcloth. "It's all well and good to be afraid, Jackie, as long as you know what to do about it."_

Jack spun into the cabin door and flung it open, running to the corner and dropping on his knees when he reached his bed, throwing open the drawers underneath it.

"What are you doing?" Gibbs asked.

"I said we'd go back to the Caribbean after all this, didn't I?" He cleared his throat, his voice still shaking. He gathered the bag of wind into his arms and staggered to his feet. Nodding for Gibbs to follow him out, he trotted up the steps to the helm and positioned the bag on the ledge of the skylight. If I'm not on the water, ye got nothing to hunt, do you, ye gooey, nasty slimy wretch? "Take us west."

As the man turned the wheel, Jack unknotted the rope around the bag and folded the end of it down until he had a small opening about an inch wide. The sails flapped above him, billowing out and catching the wind. The _Black Pearl _lunged forward, sending most of the men stumbling to the deck. I'm eager too, girl, but let's not rush it so bad we make things worse, he thought, closing the hole a little more.

"That's some find," Gibbs remarked, stroking his chin at the bag of wind. "We got enough to get back?" Jack didn't answer, experimenting with the width of the hole. "We'll be back in the Caribbean in less than a fortnight! What's the plan then? Jack? What's the plan?"

* * *

**A/N: Once again, a big shout-out to Fedah and Colozamia for posting the script. They did as great a job recording this movie as they did with AWE. If the beginning of the chapter seems familiar, it is from Ch. 18 of _The Sparrow's Journey_. I admit some laziness for copying and pasting the scene, but it was too important a scene to leave out altogether and I wasn't going to rewrite something I already had so vividly pictured in my mind, so the last option I saw was to include it in this story, too. Sorry. There will be only one more time that I do it. _Facile _means "easy" in Italian. The way I've interpreted DMC, the prison scene is not concurrent with the wedding/opening scene, more or less a flashback, along with Bootstrap's first scene. The two stories don't converge until Jack and Will meet up on the Pelegostos' island.**


	28. Chapter 28

30 Days Before

Signing the paper ought to be enough, Elizabeth thought, bent over the notary's desk, scribbling her name below the full names of her parents. Her birthday, their birthdays, her birthplace, their birthplaces—full lives reduced to calendar dates. She sighed, writing out her mother's death date before turning the paper and quill over to Will. At least he would know the same pain, she thought, watching him adjust his grip on the quill and pressing it to the paper. More pain, actually, since his father wouldn't be able to attend. It was something Elizabeth had pondered many times over in her mind, the shock and discouragement Will initially showed upon learning his father had been a pirate, and a cursed one at that. She had gazed at Will dropping the blood-soaked coin into the chest with nothing but relief and pride, the realization he had just killed his father not dawning upon her until hours later.

"What if I don't know my father's death day?" he asked the notary, responding to the raised eyebrow and clucked tongue with an aloof stance.

"Will." She took his hand and nodded at him. "You know what day it was."

"No, I really don't."

"Just put 'unknown,'" the notary grumbled, rolling his eyes at them and returning to his book. "When you're done debating about it…"

"Elizabeth, I've been thinking about it and the more I think about it, the more I know he might be alive." Will scratched out the rest of his information. Clearing his throat, he waited for the notary to put his book down again and prepare the document for his signature and seal.

"Usually if you can afford a marriage certificate, you know what date your father died," he mumbled to himself.

"I'm not sure that he is dead," Will blurted, pursing his lips and then turning back to Elizabeth. "He was already cursed when Barbossa strapped him to that cannon. He would have survived being sent to the depths! Don't you see? That was ten years ago. That's more than enough time to find a way to free himself and get back up to land. He would have gone home, I'm sure, figuring he wouldn't have any friends left on the _Black Pearl. _He'd figure Jack would be dead and he would have nowhere else to go. I'd already gone looking for him, though." He paused, thanking the notary for the certificate and stuffing it into a folder, his eyes lit up like a child's, Elizabeth noticed. "Don't you see?" he asked again. "There's no definite way of knowing he died. He could still be out there somewhere, maybe still pirating." He laughed, looking out in the direction of the harbor on their way out the door. "Wouldn't that be something?"

"It certainly would be," she breathed, taking his offered arm and batting the blinding sun out of her eyes. Adjusting her hat, she pulled him towards the square. "I hope that's what happened."

"He won't come to the wedding," Will said with as much authority as he excised during fighting lessons. "He wouldn't know about it. But maybe one day we'll cross paths. I always wondered if I would be able to recognize him, or maybe he'd know me first." His free arm crossed over his body and rested on Elizabeth's hand, securing their linked arms together.

Or he might be dead, she thought, but leaned her head on him instead. This would be the perfect moment to say the perfect thing, she told herself, some statement of reassurance and support.

"I can't imagine how proud of you he would be."

"Only because I would have you," Will said, kissing her cheek. "Why are we stopping here?"

"This is where we're going to have the wedding!" she laughed, pushing open the door to the church and pulling him down the aisle, the outside light catching the suspended cross at the altar, leaving the long oak pews in shadow.

"Most people do."

"No, not in here. Out here." Leading him through the small side room where the reverend hung up his robes and stored the Communion wine, they winded down the stone corridor that led to the field in the back, overlooking the sea. "Isn't it beautiful? I'll come out of that door there." She pointed to one of the doors. "There will be chairs here." She ran down the field, skirt hitched up, the gentle sea breeze kissing her face. "And here, with the aisle here. Of course, Father will have some musicians here and he expects there to be gate-crashers, but they'll just have to stand over the awning. What do you think?"

"It's lovely." He circled the imaginary perimeter she'd created, careful to not knock over her imaginary chairs, she supposed. Stopping at the edge of the hill, Will sat and let his legs hang over. "What if it rains?"

"We say 'I do' very quickly and enjoy our first married kiss soaking wet."

"That has more than its share of charms," he laughed, shuffling back to his feet. "What made you decide to have it outside?"

"Everything's too small," Elizabeth sighed, willing her eyes to focus on the path ahead of her, shaking off an oncoming trance, hoping Will wouldn't ask her what she meant. At first, the wanderlust washed over her without method, no more deliberate than a tide crashing onto a mollusk. But it ebbed, slightly, when she would go outside, when she would see the ocean staring back at her, daring her to cast herself into an uncharted course with only her heart and the wind telling her where to go.

They left the church, tiptoeing back through the sanctuary and back into the busy square.

"Ah, the lovebirds out and about. Just how long is it before the big day?"

"Sir Beckett," Elizabeth purred with enough bite to twist it into a growl. "You have a lot of nerve to show your face to me. You did notice you didn't merit an invitation to the blessed event, didn't you?"

"Miss Swann," he tsk-tsked her before resuming his smug smile. "Has it occurred to you that I just happened to be passing by and wished to pay my respects to the happy couple? It's about time fate decided to smile on your family, and it finally looks as though it is doing just that. Your father's position did not even need to be restored and in a short matter of time he will be giving away his only child to the most prominent blacksmith in the Caribbean."

"And yet you look like the cat that caught the canary," Will snapped, his fist tightening under Elizabeth's hand, eyebrow raised.

"You have no idea how right you are. Actually, Miss Swann…" He turned to face her with his whole body, butting Will out of the conversation. Conversation, she grunted, smoothing her skirt so more of it could stand between Will and Beckett. "I was wondering who was acting as the Mother of the Bride so I would know to whom to entrust my gift to you."

"That will be the last thing you say to her." Will stepped forward, hand on his sword.

"Come, come, Mr. Turner, it is an innocent question."

"I don't want anything you have to offer," she said, keeping her tone low and steady.

"You mustn't say such things. You'll regret them later. If you are then planning your own wedding I suppose since I did not receive an invitation that I am barred from seeing who else may or may not be invited?"

Elizabeth's eyebrow twitched, her lips itching to speak, but she folded her arms and glared, envisioning flames surrounding him. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Will begin to unsheathe his sword.

"No matter," Beckett said, swinging his hands behind his back and stepping away from them. "Enjoy the remainder of your engagement."

"Odious villain," Elizabeth snorted, not blinking until Beckett had disappeared back into the crowd. "It's a wonder he didn't just leave town after his plans didn't work out the way he'd wanted. Will." Her fingers curled around the grip of his sword, sheathing it back, not releasing it until feeling his own grip subside. He bent his head down and locked eyes with her, Elizabeth unable to read anymore but sadness and…pity on his face. Pity? "Will, I don't care that he's still around making trouble. I stopped caring what anyone thought a long time ago."

"You, you do so much on your own," he said, taking up her arm once again and leading her through the square back to the house.

"What do you mean?"

"It's been such a hard year for you and with all you've been through, you've had to be responsible for a wedding on top of it all, with no….with very little help from anyone."

"The boy with no father feels sorry for me?" she snapped, stopping dead in her tracks. "I'm so sorry."

"No, don't be." Will stopped and cupped her cheek, his fingertips brushing a few tendrils of her hair, the acceptance, the love, the pity radiating off his face boiling her blood. She could feel her nostrils flaring. "It's been such a strain. It's a wonder it doesn't frustrate you more."

Exhaling, she took in another deep breath. Closing her eyes, she leaned into his hand, taking in the full effect of his touch.

"I'm sorry if I haven't been helping as much as I could be," Will whispered.

"I don't need you to feel sorry for me," she whispered back, clutching his fingers. "I have more than most people could ever hope to have." Her eyes drifted down to the cold pebbles on the street. "I have more than most people could ever hope to have," she repeated to herself, so softly it was barely a breath, a mantra for herself. Her home and station were far above that of most women in the world, her fiancé stellar, her father devoted, her skills and intellect enviable…at least to her—anything else was ungrateful, aiming for the stars when she already had everything else.

* * *

"King me," she said, tapping the black draught at the end of the board. Her father sighed and placed another black draught on top of it. Laughing, she placed her elbows on the table and awaited his turn.

"Mr. Turner is here," Fisher said, knocking on the sitting room door.

"Oh, and just when you were making a comeback." Governor Swann stood.

"I've been winning ever since we started!"

"Perhaps Will would like to take over and salvage what few draughts I have left." He stretched his arms and shot a loving smile at her before going to the door. Scampering to her feet, she caught up with him.

"Perhaps I shan't go backwards with my crowned piece now," she sighed, twirling around the foyer. "It would give either you or Will a sporting chance, which is, after all, the real object of the game, sport." She grinned. "Winning can only be the object if it is over a worthy opponent."

"No need to get malicious about it," he laughed, wagging a finger at her before answering the door.

"Governor Swann. Elizabeth."

"Come in, Will. I'm surprised to see you here at night," Governor Swann said, motioning for Will to enter, glancing back at Elizabeth when Will remained stationary. "Is something the matter?"

"Well, sir, I, I came by with a purpose…if I could see Elizabeth outside first?"

"Will, what's this all about?" Elizabeth stepped out onto the porch, the lanterns providing just enough light to catch a nervous smirk on his face. He moved to one of the palm trees framing the house and brought forth a tall, middle-aged woman in a slightly rumpled blue tea gown.

"Elizabeth, this is Mrs. Primrose York. She runs the milliner's shop next to the smithy."

"How do you do, Miss Swann?" Mrs. York took her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I understand we'll be neighbors soon enough."

"Yes, yes, we will. To…to what do I owe the pleasure?" Her eyes darted from her to Will and back.

"Mr. Turner said your father was in need of a hat for your wedding. I do men's hats as well." The slight inflection in her voice grasped Elizabeth and forced her to turn back to Will, who just shrugged. "He said it had to be tonight. That's why I brought my measuring tape and some fabric samples." She gestured to a small trunk at her feet.

"Oh, well, of course. Go on in. Father!" Elizabeth stretched to the threshold and poked her head into the door. "Mrs. York is here to measure you for a hat."

"At this hour?" he yelled back to her, his footsteps nearing.

"This doesn't seem like a good time after all, Mr. Turner," Mrs. York sputtered, picking up her trunk.

"Nonsense. Governor Swann is a humorous fellow, isn't he, Elizabeth?"

"Only when hats are involved."

"My apologies," Governor Swann said, coming out into the night air. "I thought Will was Elizabeth's only guest. How do you do?" He shook Mrs. York's hand. "I suppose we could do it here in the foyer. That's where the light is best at night, I'm afraid. Fisher, come and take Mrs. York's trunk and materials, please. Right this way."

"Will, what's all this about?" Elizabeth asked again, closing the door behind her father after he ushered the woman inside.

"She's a widow. The shops are so close I could hear her telling one of her friends she would turn forty-nine this year. I wasn't eavesdropping, just…the slats in the walls…" He kicked the ground.

"I remember you once said she chased Mr. Brown out of there with a broom."

"The day you taught me to dance," he brightened.

"Yes." She nodded slowly, reminding herself to give him a chance to explain.

"You'll like her very much. She's well-read, cheerful, and beautiful. Girls younger than she ask her for tips on how to brighten their skin and make it smooth… She's a widow," he said again, his gaze again avoiding hers. Bringing his hands together, he wrung them, jolting a fraction when she gasped in realization.

"So you decided to take her to see where she would become the lady of the house, is that it?" She brought her fist up to her mouth and bit her lip, stifling a giggle. She let out a disciplinary cough.

"I, well, your father…not that Beckett of all people has any sway over my thoughts, but he did bring up the fact that you've done so much all on your own, no mother for so long…"

"Will!"

"She's of a higher class than I am, Elizabeth, not an aristocrat by any means, but well-bred, educated formally, and her shop does very well. It would sell for a reasonable price and bring some money into the arrangement."

"Well, my father doesn't have any tracts of land to offer, so I'm afraid our medieval practices will have to be revised somewhat," she laughed, exhaling and relaxing her shoulders. "Who told you Father was interested in remarrying?"

"I, no one," he blurted. "It just occurred to me there might have been a number of things that happened to you this year where a mother's care and wisdom might have been some comfort to you."

Elizabeth unleashed a great laugh, holding her sides, her eyes brimming with tears that could no longer be restrained. Seeing Will turn towards the street, she threw her arms around him and embraced him.

"I never imagined you as a matchmaker."

"I didn't mean anything by it."

"No, no, no one ever said you did," she soothed him, messing some of his hair. "It's adorable. And measuring for the hat he would wear to his daughter's wedding. It is a wonderful story they could tell the grandchildren, I suppose. Mrs. York also isn't privy to your ulterior motive?"

"No, a business venture, and a chance to meet you," he sighed, cocking his head. "She wanted to see the woman I'd be sharing the upstairs with. You're not angry? I would never try to replace your mother."

"That's something my father ought to be reassuring me, not you. No, I'm not angry. Do you think you're the first person to suggest Father remarry? A governor raising a girl with only maids to assist?" She grinned at his baffled expression. "But, of course, if that is true love going on in there, I won't stand in the way of it, and if nothing else, Mrs. York gets paid and my father gets a hat."

"I did take that into account," Will said, finally sharing in her laugh. She kissed his forehead and opened the door for them to go back inside.

* * *

**A/N: Yes, I did include "tracts of land" in this. If you know where that comes from, you are as big a nerd as I and I salute you for it! Hmm, Beckett doing some fishing around…that can't be good, can it? **


	29. Chapter 29

27 Days Before

It was one of those days, Jack thought, snapping the lid to the compass shut, one of those days when all those dreams of Lizzie—kissing her, taking her…loving her—replayed over and over in his mind. At least today he had a pitiful-but-existent reason to think about her. Her birthday was in five days, the twenty-sixth of March. The date was as ingrained in him as the way her lips moved when she'd said it. Now back in the Caribbean, safe, at least for now, it seemed the planets had aligned just right for him to be in close proximity of her for it. Ha ha, that's right, he thought. Go to Port Royal and get yourself hanged just to see a girl who is probably married by now. You don't even know how old she'll be anyway. He gazed up at the men working, their legs dangling over the mainyard, Gibbs among them. Smirking, he waltzed over to the mast and climbed upward.

* * *

"No sign of the Commodore as of late," he said, sitting next to Gibbs on the mainyard of the mast, re-knotting the shrouds.

"No, but that don't mean he's given up by any means."

"Never said that, mate. I think I know our dear friend Norrington well enough by now to know better than that. Was he always so persistent?" He ran his tongue over his teeth at the question.

"Oh, you bet your boots," Gibbs laughed. "Not a bad man to work for, really…wouldn't tolerate, the, you know…" He gestured a drinking motion with his hands and chuckled. "Not like here," he sighed. "Yes, sir. Being on the _Pearl _is something special."

"And to think you saw her off in the distance when you were still a Navy man," Jack said, keeping him on that voyage. "If anyone at the time told ye you'd be first mate of that dazzling pirate ship, you'd have thought you'd started early on your inebriation."

"That's true." Gibbs paused in his work, hands on his knees, gazing down at the deck below them. "What a voyage that was. That's quite a journey, England to the Caribbean, as you know. All the troubles that brings on, not to mention salvaging Will and seeing all that charred flotsam every which way…guess Miss Elizabeth never was meant to be sheltered from all that. Ye ever sail with children, Jack?"

"Once." He'd like to forget that voyage, their wails echoing up to the deck. It didn't take a master of languages to understand how hungry they were, how frightened. For a long time, Jack had speculated that anyone, namely Beckett, would change his or her mind about what constituted as cargo just by hearing those cries, but that was before he knew one had to have a heart in the first place to be affected by anything.

"Well, if ye ever do again, you'd be hard pressed to find a better traveling companion than Miss Elizabeth," he laughed.

"Is that so?"

"Aye. Into everything. Every time ye turn around, she'd be busy with something or asking a million questions."

Jack laughed, stunned at how easy it was to picture.

"And she wanted to do everything without help, of course. Lass makes the formidable sailor now, but then…" He whistled. "Ye show her once and she's stubborn enough to think she's got it. And there'd be no arguing with her. She'd follow me around the most, when she wasn't learning from the Commodore. I'd say, 'Missy, let me do this part, ain't fit for a little girl,' and she'd get all irate. 'Mr. Gibbs, twelve is hardly little girl status.' She made the time go by, I'll tell you."

Twelve plus nine. Good lord, she would only be twenty-one? Jack ran his tongue over his teeth again, for the first time in a long while feeling old. Ye wouldn't if she were here right now. Shut it. Seriously, mate, how old did ye expect her to be? Ye knew she wasn't close to thirty.

"Mr. Gibbs," he said. "It's been a rough year, wouldn't you say?"

"Aye."

"And the pickings of ships worth sacking have been rather slim as of late."

"Well, that and we haven't made the effort in a while," Gibbs said dryly. "Of course, that ain't your fault."

"So," Jack said, ignoring the comment. "What say you to taking the _Pearl _to Cuba? It's a short voyage, have some of our windbag left, and it's an active port, make no mistake."

"I don't see what that has to do with pirating."

"It's an active port, as I said, and all piracy is, really, is robbery on the high seas. Take the sea away and it's just robbery." He winked at Gibbs. "Savvy?"

"Ah! Now there's an idea. They'll like that, lose some of that cabin fever still lingering. Santiago, now, that's got a lot of shops, vendors. In other words, ripe for the picking!" He returned Jack's grin. "I'll hop down and steer us that way myself. What made you think of that?"

Because Lizzie's going to be twenty-one in five days.

"You know me. Anything that's ripe for the picking's liable to be picked. Might as well be picked by us."

"That's the truth of it!" Gibbs started his way down the mast. "You'll have to tell me one of these days, Jack, how you think of the things you do."

You wouldn't believe me if I told you, he thought about saying.

* * *

Wagons and carts filled the streets of the bustling port, everyone bunched up against someone else's shoulders. Jack zigzagged through the crowd, Spanish drowning out the rest of the multitude of languages swimming around him. A few musicians stood on the steps leading up to permanent shops, the clanging of coins dropped into their pails accompanying their songs. He scanned the carts—tiled boxes, guitars, intricately laced scarves and mantillas, and every kind of jewelry piece known to man. All well and fine if he were delivering them himself…minus the fact he would have to come up with a convincing reason why he was there in the first place, one that Lizzie would actually believe.

A cart of woven bags and purses passed him, a young wiry boy replacing it with a cart of flowers, pots upon pots of pinks and violets popped out with red bottlebrush flowers hanging over the sides.

That would be just the thing, he thought. Not something that warrants the temptation for the deliverer to pilfer it. He strolled over to the cart, fingering the vines wrapped around it. The pointy petals of a few orchids caught his eye, deliberate but soft, a strong red hue tinged with purple.

"You run this cart, boy?" he asked the red haired, freckle-faced boy, all arms and legs by the look of him.

"Yes, sir, take the afternoon shift helpin' out me mum. Something you like?"

"There is, but I really must inquire first at how efficiently you deliver," Jack said.

"We take orders for the nearby islands, sir, no further than Aruba. We take the orders in the morning and they're out on the boat and to where they need to be same evening." He puffed out his chest. "Can't expect any such operation of the same size does it any faster."

"Aruba," Jack repeated. "Then you've delivered to Port Royal before?"

"All the time."

"Ah." He stared at the orchids, imagining them in Lizzie's hair, the petals scattered over her bed. "You know of the governor's house there?"

"It's the only big white house on top of the hill," the boy answered, rolling his eyes.

"Oy, suppose you do. How would I go about having these delivered there?" He gestured to the orchids.

"Excellent choice there, sir. You know, that flower has come to symbolize…"

"Don't really have time to skirt around the question, lad," he interrupted.

"All right then. Are these expected or a surprise? It depends. If they're expected, I put 'em on the boat and the local flower shop keeps 'em for the receiver to pick up. If it's a surprise, I can deliver them."

"Personally?" Jack raised an eyebrow, knowing the fee would come next.

"For an additional charge."

This is why he hated buying.

"Tell you what I'll do, son. You deliver these to that house for me on the evening of the twenty-sixth. You'll go up to the house, ring the bell, place them on the step, and go about your business." He took the boy's hand and set the sack of coins into it, letting him feel the weight of each one. "Do we have an accord?"

"We, we do," the boy breathed, pulling the sack up to his ear and jingling it. "There a card or a note you want to leave, sir? Parchment is there. Quills and ink here. I can tag it onto one of them stems there. Nice thing about orchids, the firm stems. Some of 'em's so flimsy. Rare beauty, they are."

Jack held the quill with one hand, his other pressed against the small piece of parchment. He wrote out _Lizzie _and then bit down on the top tip of the quill. Absurd was the only word fitting for the whole situation.

_Happy birthday and many happy returns. _Too general, too insipid, and overall too whelp-ish.

_Don't burn these like you tend to burn other things I share with you. _Not at all the right tone.

_I'm in love with you. _No. Not in a million years. Besides, it was as bold-faced a lie as a lie could get.

A year's thoughts, dreams, fantasies, memories all summed up in one tag proved a larger challenge than he'd expected, still holding the quill. What would you say to her if she were right here now, he prompted himself, chewing the inside of his cheek. Lizzie…or would Elizabeth be the safer way to start? No one else called her anything other than Elizabeth or Miss Swann. No one else. He smiled, glancing down at the name written on the tag.

"That'll do. The receiver will know who it's from," he said. "The twenty-sixth now."

"Yes, sir."

"Not a day early, and especially not a day late."

"Sir, ye really think we'd be in business if we delivered a day later than we were paid to?" The boy rolled his eyes again. Jack narrowed his eyebrows and backed away, dissecting the boy with his eyes while he separated the coins and made all the calculations in his head. "All right, sir, if that'll be all, I can get a full bouquet out to Port Royal that day and have it at the house by that evening. Don't suppose I can interest you…"

Jack followed the boy's mesmerized eyes to the crowd down the street spreading, forming a circle around two figures, each giving the other a shove, one of them LeJon. Jack groaned and then winced at the blow the other man dealt him, sending LeJon stumbling backward, his wild, coarse hair obscuring most of his face. Idle-headed codpiece—he'd take him by the eyelids and strike a fire with his heels.

"All settled?" He turned and asked the boy, hand on his sword. The boy nodded, still watching the brawl.

Jack made his way through the crowd, some of them cheering on the fight, drowning out the smack of fists against flesh. Brig, the brig for ninety days, he thought, before remembering they planned to stay on land until he could pinpoint the location of the key. Leaning down, he ducked under two men and passed right through the scuffle, dragging LeJon out of it by his vest.

"Captain!"

"Planning on cavorting with the Royal Navy while we're here, eh?"

"No, no, Captain. I was just…"

"Making an absolute arse of yourself from the look of it, and losing to boot."

"I…" His nervous face took on an indignant tightness. "I wasn't losing."

"Ah, so you would have been in one piece when you attracted the attentions of said Navy and they decided to beat you silly. Mr. LeJon, when you were warned whilst stepping off the _Pearl _that we were all incognito, were you actually comprehending that word, or was it more that you were in your own little world of make-believe that gave you this ridiculous notion you were actually good in a fight?"

"I actually didn't know what incognito meant."

"Even within the context?" Jack felt his fist tightening, the knuckles turning white, wondering what taking a swing at LeJon would feel like.

"What's context? I don't know as many languages as you do, Captain."

"Hold it right there!"

They both snapped their heads in the direction of the order coming down to them, a few uniformed men sprinting towards them.

"Bugger. Go. Now!"

The popping of firing muskets in the distance grew fainter and fainter, Jack and LeJon wedging themselves through the crowd, hurrying back to the ship. It was a wonder none of them had been hit by a stray bullet, Jack thought, resorting to pushing himself between two obese women, one of them dropping a basket of fruit. Stumbling over a few of the mangos littered across the street, he caught his balance, gripped the back of LeJon's vest, and hurled the two of them down the hill. The dry grass scratched his arms, groaning at a rock here and there. They fell in a lump against each other, their feet skidding as they stood.

"Cast off!" Jack shouted up to the few men loitering on the deck. "Cast off!"

"Captain! Good!" Leech positioned his arm, waiting for them to climb up the hull and help them onto the deck. "You are the last two!"

"Wonder why that is," Jack snapped at LeJon, gesturing for him to go ahead of him. They slammed themselves into the hull, racing up the ship like rats.

"Sorry, Captain," LeJohn said, his hands stiff at his sides, the land growing smaller and smaller.

Waving off any further excuses, Jack marched to his cabin, ready to pull out the charts and get off of the water as soon as possible. He held the knob of the door, his other hand reaching back into his pocket for the key, when it turned and left the door open ajar. Dropping the key still in his pocket, he reached further back for his pistol.

"Who's in here?" he asked the darkness.

"Jack, only…" A cough erupted from the corner near the bed. "Me."

"Mr. Gibbs?"

"Aye." He emerged, his sleeve against his mouth, face sallow. Jack leaned to the side to look at the bed behind Gibbs. A puddle of chunky, yellowish vomit simmered in the center of his bed. Jack swallowed his own urge to retch.

"It was this egg dish, Jack." Gibbs burped. "Sorry. I, I came in here looking for you and didn't see ye and thought maybe you were in bed, so I came over here and, and…"

"Spilled."

"Yes, er, spilled."

Jack grimaced at the sight, the vomit starting to drip down the blanket like a war wound. His bed had been shot and now bled a thick stew-like residue. His fingers scraped against his palms, reluctant to touch any of the covers. Holding his breath, he reached for the corners.

"It's through to the mattress too," Gibbs said, coughing again.

Jack let the corners fall back to their natural states.

"All right," he sniffed. "All right. This is what we'll do: dispose of this…" He waved his hand over the mess. "And we are stopping again. At Belize." He backtracked to his desk and opened a drawer to reveal some gold. "You will be the one to step off and buy me a new mattress, sheets, pillows, and blankets. Same size. That was satin, Mr. Gibbs, so don't be cheap."

"Nothing got on the pillows."

"The situation has called for a brand new start in general. Belize. That's our heading. After that…" They would need to stay on land. What was around here? Tia Dalma was not far off…out of the question. Seeing her would only entwine him with another disaster. However… "There's an island I know of where we can hide out for a while."

"Now, Jack, don't tell me we're seein' Tia Dalma," Gibbs pled.

"Only under the most dire of circumstances would such a thing even be contemplated." He patted his back and then checked his hand for any traces of vomit. "Better?"

"Yeah, actually, I think I am." He smiled.

"Good. Burn those sheets."

* * *

**A/N: LeJon is one of the more obscure crewmen, I'll admit. Thank goodness for Pirates Wiki so I have more people to work with besides Gibbs, Marty, Cotton, and Leech! He actually makes it all the way until the kraken attack on the _Pearl _in DMC. What a trooper! Please refer back to Ch. 5 if you need to be refreshed as to what all orchids symbolize. If you want to know just how Jack knows when Elizabeth's birthday is, please reference Ch. 4 of _Love's Conspiracies. _So this was the adventure of Jack's new bed sheets, kind of… Given the future circumstances, I wonder who might be the first girl to "christen" them?**


	30. Chapter 30

22 Days Before

Elizabeth dipped her molasses doughnut in some of the leftover custard pudding from earlier. Sitting in the parlor, she yawned, glancing over at her birthday gifts on the table. The collective works of Alexander Pope and a book chronicling the journey of Marco Polo, the latter from Will, would be literal page-turners, she thought, looking forward to tomorrow if only to have a full day set aside for reading them. A few more practical gifts accompanied them—dishes exported by her aunts and uncles, candlesticks and napkin rings strewn over the table. Her father apologized for the lack of a gift, furious with some company in London for some delay in sending over a large four-poster bed and all the covers of the finest materials.

"Satisfied?" Will asked from the opposite end of the parlor, catching the last bit of his pudding onto his spoon.

"More than satisfied," she said. "You didn't have to spend any extra money, though. I know you've been saving."

"It's your birthday," he argued. "I certainly wouldn't try to convince you that marrying me next month is a gift in and of itself." She joined in his chuckling, letting the molasses of the doughnut melt in her mouth. "I'm sorry Norrington isn't here for you."

Out of habit, Elizabeth opened her mouth to say it was all right and even expected, but blinked at Will instead. Married in a month…when had she gotten into the habit of not voicing her every thought and opinion to him? She ought to be fearless, guileless with him.

"You know, he's come to the house for every birthday between thirteen and now," she said, setting her empty bowl of pudding down on the table next to her. "Most of the time, he was the only guest besides Father and the servants. Had you ever gotten to hear him play his guitar?" Will shook his head. "I taught him that. I'd give him new sheet music every year, thanks for his teaching me to sail, I suppose. He always admired my playing so."

"I'm sure he's fine," he said, moving over to sit next to her, his eyes searching around the room for the right words, she noticed. "I'll see to it you have plenty of time to make new friends, Elizabeth. Someone like you should have more friends than this house can fill."

She laughed again, squeezing his hand and kissing his cheek. He moved in closer and took her lips with his own. About to open her mouth, he broke away from her, braving discovery to caress her arm.

"Now it's officially a more than satisfying birthday," she purred, enjoying his squirm. Indeed it was, but something didn't feel right, grating at her.

She worried about Jack. There were times she worried to the point she caught herself wringing the skin of her hands until they chafed. Did he escape the hanging just to land in deeper trouble? It seemed like him. She wouldn't be surprised if he'd need Will's help again, as well as her own. But it was foolish to think about him for too long. When one is just a footnote in the other one's life, the footnote can't hope to be even a chapter. Did he think about her at all? Why should she care if he did? Just because her lips still twitched at the memory of kissing his cheek, she should think she meant more to him than all the other women in the world he had been with, really been with, and yet managed not to destroy any of his rum? Just because no other person's eyes could make her forget herself so easily… Rising from the table, she walked through the foyer to make her way to her room. Safe in a large house, engaged to a wonderful man, the apple of her father's eye, her shoulders and arms still sore from her latest swordfight lesson—there was much for which to be grateful.

"I should be going," Will said, rising and picking up his hat, nodding at the pitch blackness outside.

"Seventeen more days," she reminded him, walking him to end of the parlor where one of the back doors led out to the yard. "Seventeen more days and we'll never have to say goodnight again. Well, we will, but not like this, not parting." She stood up on her toes and kissed him.

"Don't think I haven't been counting," he said with a wicked smile before disappearing into the night.

"Miss Elizabeth, these were at the door."

"What is it, Fisher?" she yawned, stretching her back by grabbing hold of the banister and leaning back as far as she could.

"These, miss." Fisher held a glass vase filled with orchids, each five-petaled wonder looking like it was dipped in a rainbow of reds and pinks and whites, entwined into a color seldom seen in nature except when flowers were concerned. She touched them, the vibrant smell filling the foyer. "Is there a card, miss?"

Elizabeth's hands shook, rearranging the orchids until she could see down into the vase. Tied to one of the stems was a plain scrap of parchment with only one word penned into it. _Lizzie._

"I'll just take these upstairs. They'll get plenty of sun at my window, I should think." Cleaving the vase to her heaving chest, she let the petals tickle her chin up the stairs. Biting her lip, she raced into her room and closed the door, feeling the action of setting the vase at her window required absolute privacy. They complimented the room. No. The room complimented them.

Tucking herself in between her blankets, she blew out her candle and stared up at the ceiling in the darkness. Jack remembered her. It was so selfish, she thought. Better to have him forget me. But it couldn't be all that bad. It wasn't as if he lied awake night after night pining for her. But she giggled, flattered at the thought.

Turning on her side so she could watch the silhouettes of her orchids against the moonlight, Elizabeth nuzzled her face into her pillow to muffle her giggles. Oh, Jack, she sighed. If only there was something I could give you in return. She wondered if he used that lead line she'd found for him, the day he'd slipped her his ring. Pulling it out of the drawer, she slid it on and kissed it, wondering where it and the rest of the contents would go once she moved out of the house and into the upstairs of the blacksmith shop with Will. A soft rain drizzled down her window, the splattering of each little raindrop relaxing her. She'd always loved the rain at night, and let the downpour lull her to sleep with a smile on her face.

* * *

21 Days Before

_"Don't get me wrong, love. I admire a person who's willing to do whatever's necessary."_

_"You're a smart man, Jack," she said, softer than she'd wanted, the look on his face searing through her, heating her from the inside out, and yet she fought off a shiver. "But I don't entirely trust you," she added, speaking to him and the feeling welling up inside her. He maintained that look, though, that voracious, venerating look that the paintings of the classical adventure stories wore._

_Unable to turn away from him, she grew hotter as he neared, her cheeks on fire, her ears humming, her head spinning so fast she pressed her fingertips into the railing of the ship to keep from swooning. He's going to say "peas in a pod, darling," looking so deep into her eyes she knows he knows every crevice of her soul._

_But this time, he doesn't say anything, cupping her burning cheeks instead and kissing her, drowning her at the same time he was pulling her out of the water all over again, awakening something in her. Her abdomen thrummed, her hips undulating. She waited for her fingertips to leave the railing, to trust him completely…_

"Miss? Miss?"

Elizabeth's eyes snapped open, her nose wrinkling at the dampness of her pillow, her sweat spilling onto it. Sitting up, shaking, she scanned her room, paused at the flowers on her window ledge, and wiped her neck with the sleeve of her nightgown. Her bare feet glided off the bed, towards her dressing gown. Her tongue ran rapid circles over her lips, tucked in her mouth, preparing them for speech.

"Estrella?"

"Can I come in, miss?"

Elizabeth staggered, her hand flying up to her forehead, fighting off the lingering dizziness. A dream, silly girl. Just a dream. Shaking it off, she opened the door, Estrella almost flying through it.

"Miss! Oh, miss, I had to tell you before I told your father. I'm engaged!"

"You are?" Elizabeth's mouth fell open before grinning. "You are!"

"It was the most romantic thing I'd ever experienced in all my years, miss." Estrella forgot herself and collapsed onto the foot of the bed. "Ben…Perkins took me up to the fort with him and we stood out on the battlements while the sun was still coming up. Oh, you should have seen how the sea looked at the moment, miss, the sky all pink and shimmering on the water. I know the location can't mean much to you, except it's where you had your fall last year, but oh!" She clutched her heart. "He took my hands. Let me show you how he took my hands." Elizabeth edged closer and held out her hands, which Estrella gathered and cupped between hers. "And he kissed me and said, 'Now's the time, Estrella-star.'"

"Star?"

"His name for me, miss. He said, 'Spring's here, the young miss is getting married, and the only way I can love you more than I love you right now is if you agree to be my wife.'" She squealed, kicking up her legs. "And he sang! He sang after I told him yes. 'My love is like a red, red rose…' Oh, miss. You're the first one I've told!" She cleared her throat and sprang up from the bed. "Well then, excusing my poor manners there, let's have you dressed and down in time for breakfast, shall we?"

"So you'll be leaving us soon?" Elizabeth asked, going to her wardrobe and pulling out a simple cream dress.

"We plan to be married in about nine weeks or so." She unfolded the screen and pulled out some stockings and shoes. Waiting for Elizabeth to come, she untied her dressing gown and pulled her nightgown up over her head. "Nine's my new favorite number now! Next week it will be eight!"

"So you'll be giving Father your notice?"

"Well, we'll be announcing the engagement and my intention to leave the household, yes, miss." They smoothed down the dress, Estrella crossing behind her to button it up and tie off the sash. "Then I'll be taking a few personal days with your father's permission, getting my dress cleaned and picking out a few flowers for the church and all. What are those over there, orchids?" Elizabeth reddened. "Something like that. Those are just gorgeous. Were those always there?"

"No, they're new," Elizabeth said quickly.

"Oh, good. For a moment there I thought being a fiancée had stricken me dumb," she laughed. "But then they're probably a birthday present, right, miss?" She gasped. "They're from your pirate, aren't they?"

"Estrella…"

Estrella ran from the screen and to the window ledge, leaving Elizabeth to put her own shoes on, Elizabeth's eyes watching Estrella find the tag and marvel at the flowers again. Your pirate, she'd said. Elizabeth bit her lip, stifling another giggle. My pirate.

"Yes, they are just gorgeous. Something like that in my hands to walk down the aisle with… You wouldn't mind them being the model for my wedding, would you, miss?"

"Of course not."

"You think my chocolate dress would go with them? That's my best one."

Folding her arms and looking Estrella up and down, Elizabeth kept biting her lip, but for a different reason. She was far from naïve, knowing not everyone could afford to have a dress made for a wedding, and that chocolate one with the lace was Estrella's best, what she wore to church with them every Sunday, but…

"Estrella, do we have similar measurements?"

"What's that, miss?"

"Are we about the same size?"

"Ha! That we were, miss. I'd kill to have a waist as tiny as yours, not to mention I'm a bit more…er, buxom, than you."

"Thank you for reminding me of that." Elizabeth rolled her eyes and walked to her wardrobe. She skimmed through her dresses, settling on a violet one. "This would go very well with those particular orchids."

"That it would, miss. But that's your dress and I'm not one for accepting hand-me-downs. Besides, I wouldn't be able to fit in it."

"I'm not giving you my scraps, Estrella!" Elizabeth balked. "We're going to take this to the seamstress today and she's going to make you one just like it, ready to wear in nine weeks. Don't look at me like that. I'm not merely suggesting it; I'm telling you what we're doing today."

"Miss…"

"You've only been the best, most loyal maid the history of the world has ever known," Elizabeth said, picking up her brush. "Years of loyal service should result in a brand new dress for you."

Estrella took the brush from her and began stroking Elizabeth's hair with it, her other hand brushing against the dress.

"Can't argue with that, miss," she sighed. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

Smiling at herself in the mirror, Elizabeth watched the reflection of the orchids, the sun catching the petals.

* * *

**A/N: Elizabeth's reflection of the fact she misses Jack and her subsequent receiving of her flowers is from the end of _Love's Conspiracies. _I'm so sorry. I just couldn't bring myself to rewrite that any other way, once again. This is sort of that story's companion/sequel, after all, even though there are just a couple of changes. But it's like Tia Dalma says, "Same story, different versions, and all are true." It took forever to come up with a first name for Perkins, so I hope the name flows well. Don't worry too much about him and Estrella post-AWE. They have quite the happy life together.**

**There are six chapters left and I am not sure when I will post the next one. My husband and I are going on a much-needed vacation next week and also I found out this week that we're pregnant with our second child! Yay! So excited our son will be a big brother. So I'm sure I will be able to update regularly, just wanted to let you know it is a busy time for us here. Thanks to all who have read, especially those who leave reviews!**


	31. Chapter 31

19 Days Before

Jack stepped off the _Pearl _into the immediate, dark brush, his armed crew behind him, the bramble crackling under their feet. A few swishes of swords told him they were cutting their way through where he had previously ducked.

"Too quiet for as high as these trees go," Gibbs whispered, catching up to him, his voice quaking. "What is this place you brought us? No birds, no sounds of water anywhere…"

"You'll scare the others if you keep it up," Jack warned, pausing the trek to give him a warning raise of his eyebrows.

"A bit late for that," one of them murmured.

"Just you wait and see, gents. The Pelegostos have traded with sailors for years. Who knows? You might see something you threw out a long time ago."

"How is it you know so much about them?" Leech asked, his eyes on the treetops.

"Fortunately for you, Mr. Leech, I admire curiosity. Back when the lovely _Black Pearl _was the _Wicked Wench_, ol' Bootstrap and I stopped by here to find a spring on the way to a business venture." He took a gigantic step over a few fallen branches. "There we were, up to our arms in ladies' dresses, when a few of the elders stopped us."

"Elders?" Crimp repeated, stuffing his knife back into his belt.

"Well, actually they sent their hunters to scout us out first…and bring us before them…at the points of a multitude of spears." Jack cleared his throat. "But all was well because they had never seen such finery, and their women did think our women's dresses highly amusing."

"Are their women pretty?" Quartetto asked.

Unsightly, Jack almost said, recalling too many moments of not being able to tell whether he was talking to a man or a woman.

"Dark hair and sun-kissed skin, the latter much less modestly covered than you're used to? You tell me, Quartetto. You tell me." There. He gave himself a proud smile that, since he was in front of all of them, no one would see. At the worst, they would just assume his tastes were…well, nonexistent. "They gave us a huge feast in our honor, boundless. All the ripest, sweetest fruit on this island, juicy boar. And then they made me their chief."

Twitching, he turned around to stare at all the crew, frozen in their tracks, their arms tensed out at their sides.

"How's that?"

"They made me their chief." Jack shrugged. "Oy! Since when is my doing anything awe-inspiring news? Come! As soon as I remember who I left in charge when the _Wench _pulled out, we can have another bountiful feast with a big fire and all the native wenches you can shake a stick at, unless you'd rather bed them down first. Well? Step to! We don't want to make it too easy for them."

"What do ye mean by that?" Gibbs again ran up next to him.

"If I know my tribe, and I do, even though it's been a while, they're hunting us right now."

He turned again, and, just as he'd suspected, the crew froze again in mid-step, their front legs twisted and sliding against the ground.

"If we just stand here, there'll be no sport in it for them."

"But suppose they don't remember you?" LeJon piped up from the back.

"I'm Captain Jack Sparrow! No one forgets me." Sighing, he rolled his eyes and turned back around, now face-to-face with a tribesman.

"_Zoon abrazo!"_ he shouted, opening his arms, training his eyes to lighten and give nothing but fond recognition to the painted man, avoiding the long dart gun in his hand.

"_Par?" _He cocked his head.

"_Latazo! Rah latazo!" _Jack considered pounding his chest and flinging rocks everywhere. "Captain Jack Sparrow! _Latazo. _Savvy?"

"_Latazo!_" The man fell to his knees and clasped Jack's hands, the dart gun thudding to the ground.

"Well I'll be damned," Gibbs breathed. "Jack, he remembers you!"

"Aye! A little too well." He grimaced at the man planting saliva-filled kisses on his hands. He jerked them back and beckoned him to stand. "_Neem me an het orpday…bugo._"

Nodding, the man placed his open hand near his mouth and bellowed into the brush, something like a musical note. Before anyone could attempt to decipher it, a dozen shirtless men with earrings and necklaces of bone emerged, paint on their faces, some sporting a ring in their noses. Either bald or their dark hair clipped to where it resembled an upside-down bowl on top of their head, they motioned for the crew to follow them, their bare feet gliding over the terrain with more ease than the protective-but-fumbling English boots.

They talked amongst themselves, the crew staying silent.

"Some nasty looking jewelry they got," Gibbs remarked.

"I hate to see what you make of their long pork."

"Sweet Jesus, Jack! Don't you know what long pork is?"

"No reason to fret, mate. It's a delicacy to them. I'll just give the order to not lay a hand on any of you and that'll be that."

"Captain," Gibbs growled. "I'm afraid I have to protest this. Long pork!"

"_Arons un regal avec le verrat,_" the original hunter told Jack, turning around and smiling at him.

"There! He says tonight they shall have a boar feast." He flailed his hand. "Now don't you feel terrible?"

"Somethin' that ain't fish or crab does sound mighty hearty." Gibbs licked his lips. "Fine. But not for a real long time."

"We have an accord then."

* * *

16 Days Before

His back against the trunk of a tree, Jack bit into some fruit, closing his eyes at the sweet, sharp taste. At least half a dozen men surrounded him every second, along with his crew, who never wanted to be more than an arm's length from him. At night, a line of women stretched outside his hut, or at least he presumed they were women, but had refused all of them, just to be safe. He taught them "celibate" and managed to incorporate it in every story he told their children. It was easier to fit into stories like Hop-o'-my-Thumb than his mother's Italian fairy tales, like the one about Biancabella and the snake.

The large bonfire in the middle of the huts, the flames curling up into a diamond-black sky, calmed him, almost lulled him, the exhaustion of the entire year clouding over his plans for the future.

"Wasn't a bad idea of yours!" Crimp slumped down next to him, an empty grin plastered on his face.

"That's what I told you." His nose wrinkled at the aroma of rum. "Where did you get rum? Why don't I have any?"

"They're passin' it out right and left, Captain! Heh heh, not as smart as ye look!"

"Saved a bottle for you, Jack."

He caught the bottle Gibbs threw to him, gesturing for him to insert himself between him and Crimp.

"Boy, that naming ceremony was really something," Gibbs sighed, taking a sip of his flask. "_Dichtbeg Venkbrauwen_. That's my name here." He nudged Jack. "Wonder what that means."

"Loyal first mate," Jack said, biting his tongue at the fact he couldn't bring himself to tell him it meant "bushy eyebrows."

"Aw, that's me! What's your name here?"

"Chief. I thought you knew that."

"Oh. I didn't know if they was anymore creative than that."

Jack let a laugh erupt out of him, amusement, exhaustion, and frustration all melded into one loose sound.

"We don't need anyone getting any creative ideas now, do we?"

"Suppose not," Gibbs laughed, taking another sip. They watched the dancing escalate, a few of the tribesmen convulsing near the fire, arms stretched up to the sky in ecstasy. "Ye miss your hat?"

"Miss what?" Jack leaned closer to him, his hand up to his ear, mentally drowning out the drums.

"Your hat!"

"Happy birthday!"

They paused in their conversation to shoot blank looks at Marty, standing before them, a bottle in each hand, grinning from left to right.

"Happy birthday, Captain!" He extended one of his bottles to him.

"Bloody shut it now, Marty."

"But…"

"How did you know that?" Gibbs sputtered before turning to Jack. "How'd he know that?"

"Yes, how did you know that?" He glared at Marty.

"It was on the report."

"Report?"

"The natives, Jack," Marty said. "They've saved your old reports, even the very first one that came out. It's got when you were born, your education, noticeable scars…"

Springing up, Jack motioned for Marty to trot ahead of him and guide him to it. Winding around hordes of Pelegostos chanting and beating drums, he leaned down into one of the larger huts. Blinking at the darkness, his eyes adjusted and followed the tip of Marty's finger to stacks upon stacks of papers, some yellowed, weighted down with rocks. Taking up a stack of them, he skimmed each one, his name standing out amongst the various languages. Apparently the fact they didn't forget you was a gross underestimation, he thought.

"What do you make of that, Captain?"

"A trifling matter." He shrugged. "Why not keep tabs on one's chief, eh?"

"_Bugo kamino party_," a man said behind them. Jumping, Jack cleared his throat and approached the man's head poking in at them. "_Se se rah!"_

_"Se se rah_. Yes," Jack said. "He wants us to go back outside, says it's a very big party."

"_Kamino Samedi_," the man continued, rambling and flailing his arms around him. He pointed up to the sky, then at the ground, and then to the bonfire lighting their path. Jack nodded here and there, the rapid speech demanding so much attention no more complex response could be made. At last the man parted from them and went back to the drummers.

"What was that all about?" Gibbs asked at the same time Marty asked, "What was he saying?"

"Turns out, gents, we are here at a notable time," Jack said, sitting back down and gesturing for a bottle. "Their Samedi Festival is fast approaching and, as their chief, I will be presiding over it, after which we can discuss departure details." Glancing around his tight circle of men, he smirked. Taking a longer swig of the rum, he wiped his lips with his sleeve. "Their god of death. Don't look so anxious, mates. You'd like this fellow. They say he's one for fine tobacco and rum." They breathed long sighs. "While the other gods are seeing to human affairs and such, Samedi is the one telling bawdy jokes and playing tricks."

"What was all this?" Marty repeated the sky and ground motions.

"That was merely a dramatization. Their gods come down to them…" He moved his hand from the sky to the ground. "They help them through whatever crisis befalls them, and then they're released through the fire there."

"What all does this festival entail?" Quartetto asked.

"Cut and run! Cut and run!" Cotton's parrot screeched.

"Probably more of the like. Oy!" Jack shifted and snapped his fingers at the nearest native, a fleshy woman with her face painted and looked to be wearing a burlap potato sack. He repeated the question to her, frowning at her squirm.

She lifted her flabby arms and shook them at the sky, her face soft with reverence. She spoke slower than the man, allowing Jack to translate as she went.

"There'll be dancing, a great many flowers scattered everywhere from the sounds of it. Then they'll have the fire ready and release Samedi into the heavens…" He waited for her to finish. "…which is where his wife, the goddess Maman, is waiting for him. The feast is afterward and then they go to the sea to honor those of their tribe that have died. I take it this Samedi can bring people back from the dead if he wants."

"_Faca gostam casado?_" she asked, leaning forward at him, accentuating her massive cleavage. Batting her eyelashes at him like a country maiden, he observed, scooting away from her.

"_Not casado_," he snapped, shooing her away, shaking his head.

"What now?" Gibbs asked.

"Poor matron must be a pinch drunk from the celebration," he said. "She asked if I liked being married. I said I wasn't." He looked back at her, joining some other women preparing a fruit bowl. "That had better not be my birthday present."

* * *

7 Days Before

Dreams of tentacles coiling around his leg and dragging him through his own cabin into a green abyss forced Jack to lie awake in his hut, staring up through the thatched roof at the stars. Holding his breath, he closed his eyes, but the images lingered. Lumbering up, he stretched and went outside. The only traces of the bustling activity now were a few blackened logs and discarded crab legs. Too quiet, Gibbs had said when they first arrived, and the night was worse, its silence boring into Jack's ears.

"Well," he sighed, desperate to register any sound. Running his tongue over his teeth debating whether a conversation with himself would be a sign of madness or not, he perked up at a rustling sound in the brush. "There's a bit of relief," he said, loud enough for whatever animal had made it to hear, and took out his compass. Just checking it, he told himself, flipping open the lid. Instead of wobbling, the arrow pointed straight back to the beach, in the direction of the _Pearl. _Jack raised an eyebrow. Summoning a map in his head, he shook his head. There was nothing, absolutely nothing else in that direction he could want and nothing he had wanted in the past. Must want to leave pretty badly, he thought, suddenly nauseated.

The rustling from the brush grew louder, twigs snapping and even a wild bird cawing out. Gibbs emerged from his hut, a pistol in hand.

"Ye hear that?" he hissed.

Jack held out an arm, signaling for silence, and tiptoed towards the brush, one hand on his own pistol.

"Something's wrong," he mouthed, not even sure if Gibbs could have heard it. Just about to pull back a few leaves, the rustling turned into footfalls…rapid, frantic footfalls.

"Captain!"

Crimp ran to him and fell into his arms, blood spilling from his side.

"Get to the ship. Get to the ship!"

The crew tumbled out of their huts, Jack and Gibbs dragging Crimp between them, their knees going ever higher to avoid tripping over the snake-like tree roots. The blind leading the blind, was all Jack could think, dashing through the brush while the men behind him were finishing lacing their boots and buttoning their shirts as they ran.

"What in blazes happened?" Gibbs barked at Crimp.

"Pelegostos…don't let them…kill me," Crimp wheezed. The song-like cries of the Pelegostos echoed all around them, the hunters now melding into the wilderness, on the prowl for their panicked prey. Hoisting Crimp more, Jack tried to pick up the pace, the Code's "leave them behind" admonition all it could process. You're in front but fell behind. You're in front but fell behind. Leave him. Leave him.

Leave him.

As if hearing him, Crimp collapsed onto the ground, just as the white beach was visible through the last line of trees. Clutching his side, he howled in agony.

"Get the ship ready!" Gibbs yelled as the men passed them. He bent over Crimp and rolled him until they could see the damage. "Good God! It's like they took a chunk out of him!"

Jack whipped his sash off and fell to his knees, tying it around Crimp's waist.

"Hold right there!" he ordered, gesturing at the spot with his head.

"Jack…"

"It'll hold off the bleeding."

Gibbs maneuvered around Crimp and pressed his hands down on him.

"Mama!" Crimp shrieked, his legs beginning to spasm. Jack jerked away the trembling fingers, still curious enough to inspect the wound themselves. How did this happen, he asked himself, but the dressing of the wound made his head swim. Get to the _Pearl. _Get to the _Pearl _now.

"Sweet Jesus!" Gibbs jolted, causing a sudden rush of blood to soak Jack's hands. "They're coming!"

"We'll get you, mate. Get back to the _Pearl_," Jack said, hoarse, the blood splattering his sleeves. "We'll get on the _Pearl."_

"_Latazo_!" they heard. Bugger!

Crimp's legs twitched, his mouth going slack.

"He's dead, Jack."

It was as if a great gust of wind slammed him into the trunk of the nearest tree. Fighting the vomit creeping up his throat, he swallowed, his exhale shaky. His head bobbed down and then snapped back up, the sight of the blood on his arms drowning his already swimming head.

"_Latazo Samedi. Festival imist fangen anzu,_" they said, gathering around him, the tips of their spears at his eyes. Chief Samedi. The festival is about to begin.

* * *

**A/N: Well, Pirates Wiki is a MUST for all POTC fanfic writers, one reason being because it actually has a (very small) dictionary of the Pelegostos' language, which I learned is called "Umshoko." Even thought it sounded comically fake to me, it was created by a dialect coach and a linguist, so go figure. That said, I am not going to follow the dictionary religiously, as I like my own translations for some dialogue that will come later, but it was useful. They threw in some Pig Latin and international words too, so I am mostly using Dutch and Spanish, some French, some Portuguese, and butchering them all like crazy, applying a little bit of Pig Latin to them here and there. It's less fun than it sounds. **

**I was originally going to make Jack's birthday the same as Johnny Depp's, which is in June, but I realized I needed to bump it up if I wanted the math to fit, so Jack's birthday is, appropriately, April 1st. Just for the record, though, I do think Jack is a Gemini and not an Aries! If you want to see my evidence, google what happens when an Aries and a Gemini get together. The Samedi Festival is something I made up. Wanting to learn a little bit about Caribbean mythology, I came across a lot of voodoo references. Not what I was looking for at first… I read quite a bit about Baron Samedi and he has some similarities with Jack and since the Pelegostos seem so into death, it seemed like a good fit.**

**I am back from Alaska! It is so beautiful and full of wild-but-friendly animals and amazing landscapes. I highly recommend it, especially Ketchikan for fellow kayaking fans. Oh, and Ketchikan also has FISH PIRATES! Fish pirates! Those Caribbean pirates had no idea there were pirates up north in the cold sacking ships and stealing salmon and king crab. Piracy the hard way.**


	32. Chapter 32

5 Days Before

Elizabeth brushed a curled strand of hair out of her face, adjusting the floor-length mirror once more. She stared at the reflection, watching her hands once more probing the little beads and swirls of her stomacher. She kneaded the textures of fabric and pearls on the pads of her fingers to make it real, that she wasn't just scrutinizing a life-sized doll wrapped in silk and tulle. Stretching her fingers, she willed her hands away from her dress and gazed down at them, bony and bare. Nothing manmade blemished them, except for a deep scar that traced her lifeline. There were only two other people in the world with the same scar, all earned in pursuit of a common goal...

"Oh, I almost forgot about that nasty cut," Estrella said, entering the small room. "I did bring me own church gloves, miss, if you change your mind 'bout going out there with them bare. They match the color and everything." Elizabeth jumped at the voice and spun around to face her. "And I must say, they match the color of your face now. What's wrong, miss?"

Her lips were dry. Surely they would crack open if she spoke. They parted, but no voice came.

"You look like you're going to be sick, miss."

"Estrella…with you and Perkins, have you ever been…not sure?" Estrella's anxious face melted into motherly wisdom.

"It's just jitters, miss. You aren't the first bride to get them and I daresay you won't be the last."

"I've never been married," Elizabeth whispered, closing her eyes at the insipient obviousness of the statement. Her brain must be losing its power by the second. "How will I know if our marriage is what it's supposed to be? I don't have anything to compare it to. Oh my God, Will is a blacksmith…the shop's only been his for a short while…what am I doing to him? I'll eat him out of house and home. That's buying enough food for two, enough clothes for two…furniture…babies…oh, that word's never sounded so horrid!"

"All, all right, miss. It's going to be all right." Estrella took her hand in both of hers and patted it. "You just need to take a deep breath is all. There we go. Is there anything I can get you?"

"I want…never mind." Why bother? It was not in Estrella's power to give. It had been a whole year. No one thinks about someone they only knew for a few days last year. What use would he be to her right now anyway, a wall for her incoherent ravings to bounce off of? She would just have to sort everything out herself. "I want Jack here." She let her head fall onto Estrella's shoulder.

"I know."

"How could you know when I don't?" Elizabeth broke away from her and paced the perimeter of the small crying room. Confined, caged—she sucked in as much air as she could, stopping in front of the door.

"Miss, you go out that door and see Mr. Turner before you're married and it'll bring ye nothing but bad luck." She walked over to the small window and parted the curtains. "Had you decided to have it inside the sanctuary, ye might have been able to get away with spying on some of the goings-on." She pulled the curtains closed. "It's cloudin' up out there, miss. They'll be playing your entrance soon. Now, now. Come on then."

"Estrella, I don't know…something doesn't feel right." Her arm flew across her stomach, the tiny beads of her stomacher poking at the delicate skin.

"Listen to me," Estrella snapped. She took hold of Elizabeth's shoulders. "You agreed to this marriage, miss. You love Mr. Turner, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Now, look at me and answer—do you want to be his wife? Not just somebody's wife, but his wife? Sharin' all the rest of your days with him?"

Her ears buzzed, her thighs cramping. Shouldn't those be resounding yeses? Shouldn't she also be excited? It's supposed to be excited nervousness, she told herself, not just nervousness. The thought of stepping onboard the ship taking them out of England and here to Port Royal came to mind, the butterflies in her stomach fluttering so fast she had vomited before setting foot on the plank, discreet enough so no one would notice until it was too late. But the whole time, it had taken so much energy to refrain from clapping her hands, skipping down the dock, and leaping up onto the rigging. She should be running down the aisle to Will with her arms spread and her veil flying like flag behind her.

"Miss? Miss? Do you hear me?"

Elizabeth closed her eyes and visualized Will—strong, reliable, sweet-natured, hardworking Will that she'd known forever. How often had he reassured her? That's what was missing, she thought. If Will were in here, you'd have no hesitation whatsoever.

Keep telling yourself that.

I will. She stood a little straighter. I accepted his proposal with enough excitement. The day is just so surreal, that's all. It just doesn't feel like a reality.

"I'm ready," she said, nodding.

"Sure?"

"Yes."

"I wish your pirate were here too, miss." Estrella blushed and broke off eye contact, laughing at herself while staring at the floor.

"So do I…but he won't be." She stepped out the door where the matronly population of Port Royal awaited her, the oohs and ahs dripping from their mouths. They flocked around her, picking at her dress and hair, one setting her bouquet in her hands.

"Now, now, ladies," she heard her father. "Let my daughter breathe. There will be plenty of time for congratulations after she's married." He stopped in front of her, decked out in his finest, eyes brimming with tears. "So it's come to this." He raised his hand and cupped her chin with his fingertips, shaking his head at himself. "I don't tell you this enough, but you look so like your mother, especially today…although I'm sorry to say you have my eyebrows."

She blurted out a laugh, just in time to stifle any tears.

"And your mother's earrings! You are just a vision." Taking his offered arm, he led her down the stone corridor to the door leading out to the veranda which led to the open field, where twelve rows of sixteen chairs were, the ends adorned with white bouquets and ribbons. She would hear her musical cue, the door would open, and she would see Will standing at the end of all of it. She inhaled.

"You're radiant, Elizabeth," her father whispered to her, kissing her cheek. "You know, I was against this marriage to begin with…"

"That's just what I need to hear," she snorted.

"But let me finish. But I know you wouldn't give your heart to just anyone. It has to be someone very special, unique from all the rest, and you haven't made that decision lightly. I'm so proud of you, my dear. Anyone you love—they're a good man in my book."

She could only nod, not trusting her mouth and throat, feeling a sob working its way upward through her body.

"Father," she whispered, eyes at the door, unable to speak. Wedding. It was here. It was on the other side of this door.

"Oh, oh yes!" He leaned across her and opened the door. The guests, still seated, all turned their heads in her direction, a portentous silence replacing what should have been Bach's "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring." Shuffling her feet apart to be able to stand on the toes of her shoes, she saw Reverend Kamp, purple as a radish, shake his head and open his hands, alone at the altar. Her bottom lip fell from her top. Swallowing, she stepped outside and stuck her head out to look to her left and then her right.

"Stay here," her father said, marching down to the minister, returning the awkward waves of a few guests. Elizabeth glanced to her left and right again, her legs taking her to the end of the veranda, winding around to the side of the church. The main street laid deserted, most of the town sitting in the chairs behind her. Paling, she held her breath, hitched up her skirt, and started down to the smithy.

"No sign of him," her father said, nudging her arm before she could move. "Why don't we wait inside?"

"He must be on his way. Could, could you send someone down to the smithy?" she asked, wringing her hands.

"I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation." He patted her hand. "It's not like Will to be late." He let loose a nervous laugh. "Why don't you go back in the crying room and we'll send someone in when we have news? Elizabeth." He squeezed her hand. "While I'm sure you know what a wonderful day it is, I know from experience it's a much harried day, also. Please, let someone else handle it and you relax."

She edged back into the room and fell back into a chair. She let her head fall back to rest against the wall, but the headpiece of her veil dug into her scalp at the contact. There was only one church in town and they had been here just yesterday rehearsing. He knew the time. He had his clothes laid out upstairs, he'd told her, before telling her he didn't expect to catch any sleep that night. It had been of little concern then, she remembered, wanting to tell him he wouldn't catch any sleep the night after the wedding either, but demurred. What could be keeping him? He had closed the smithy for the entire day, so no clients.

So this is what it feels like to be jilted.

Absolutely not, she scolded herself. Will wanted to be married to her even more than she wanted to be married to him and she was here; therefore, he would be here. Sitting upright, she bit her lip at her own train of thought. She didn't want to marry Will as much as he wanted to marry her? Ridiculous. This is what today is doing to you. You're the woman and the woman always wants to be married more than the man, and Will is a wonderful man to be married to. And the alternative to being jilted was that said wonderful man met up with trouble...

Standing, she burst through the door and glided down the aisle to the altar, ignoring the bewildered expressions and murmurs of her guests. Nodding and smiling at Reverend Kamp, she smoothed out the petals on her bouquet and waited, inhaling the pungent pre-rain air, so lush and fertile a smell that it made rain inevitable. Let it pour, she thought, raising her face to the gray clouds above her. Let it wash away such a rocky start.

* * *

She could hear the guests, one by one, sliding out of their chairs and dashing to the safety of the roofed veranda as more warm, fat raindrops fell, each one's tint-tint-tint echoing from the arranged teacups near the now-soggy refreshments.

From what she could see, the storm straightened her curled hair, each raindrop weighing down on her more and more. Keeping her eyes on the dark green horizon in front of her…she'd chosen the layout based on being able to see the ocean while reciting her vows…she knelt on the muddy grass. No one had been at the smithy when Father had sent a runner to check and even though there had been no signs of a struggle or blood spatters, the idea of something having happened to Will dominated her mind, that he lied barely conscious somewhere far away, calling her name.

They'd tried to coax her to come out of the rain, that she'd ruin her dress, catch a cold—but she couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but wait.

The sound of footsteps approaching her woke her, the clanking of shackles following. There he was, bound, led out in his best clothes by armed guards, her guests parting for them. Leaving her bouquet in a puddle, she ran to him, her dress weighing three times what it did before the rain.

"Will! Why is this happening?" She played with the lapels of his coat to busy her hands.

"I don't know," he whispered. "You look beautiful."

Flashing a smile at him, she sighed, Estrella's words having more than a spoonful of irony now. "I think it's bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding."

"Make way, let me through!" Her father weaved through the crowded hive of guests. "How dare you!" She shifted to see him addressing a wigged figure in front of them. She cleaved onto Will's arms, a leg in front of him, her eyes burning at the intruder. "Stand your men down at once! Do you hear me?"

"Governor Weatherby Swann. It's been too long."

Beckett. She pushed more of Will behind her.

"Cutler Beckett?"

"It's Lord now, actually." That would explain why he had not reared his short ugly head for so long, she thought, licking her lips to say it out loud.

"Lord or not, you have no reason and no authority to arrest this man!"

"In fact, I do. Mr. Mercer." She shuddered, always feeling a million pairs of eyes on her when she was around Mr. Mercer, a ferryman to another world that knew only pain and the sadistic pleasure gained from it. "A warrant for the arrest of one William Turner." He handed her father the scroll. Elizabeth noted the brief look of annoyance her father sent to Will, as if asking, "What was it you've done this time?" Looking over at Will, she saw no guilt, no recollection of some past sin in his eyes, just as she thought.

"This warrant is for Elizabeth Swann!" her father sputtered after several seconds' pause.

What?

"Oh, is it? That's annoying, my mistake. Arrest her."

"On what charges?" she shouted, yanked from Will's arms and surrounded by shackles. Rebuffing the guard that came too close with them, they held her still and chained her, the heavy links forcing her arms down towards the ground. She could only hear Will's protests.

"Ah, here's the one for William Turner," Beckett said, producing another scroll. "And I have another one here for a James Norrington. Is he present?" He waved it into the crowd.

"What are the charges?" she barked at him, summoning as much strength as she could to break free from the guards and wring his neck.

"Commodore Norrington resigned his commission some months ago," her father answered.

"I don't believe that's the answer to the question I asked."

"Lord Beckett, in the category of questions not answered…" Will growled, so steely and calm she knew he would not be far behind her if the guards made the mistake of unleashing her.

"We are under the jurisdiction of the king's governor of Port Royal and you will tell us what we are charged with," she said, trying once more to step out in front of Will. No mother bear could have been deadlier than her, logic and diplomacy giving way to feral rage in protection of their kin.

"The charge is," Governor Swann said, reading ahead to himself before exhaling, his eyes taking on a hint of resignation, as if he'd been expecting it. "…is conspiring to set free a man convicted of crimes against the crown and empire and condemned to death, for which the…" His face went completely white.

"For which the punishment, regrettably, is also death," Beckett finished for him, his face unreadable. He sauntered over to Will, each step a knife twisting its way into Elizabeth. "Perhaps you remember a certain pirate named Jack Sparrow."

"Captain!" they both snapped.

"Captain Jack Sparrow," she said again. Forget mauling him to death, she thought. We'll just do it Jack's way. Give me a pistol and I'll shoot him.

"Captain Jack Sparrow," Beckett clucked. "Yes, I thought you might," he said, boring holes right into her eyes.

* * *

3 Days Before

Shrouded in the darkness of Beckett's office, only the moonlight and a few candles breaking up the opaque emptiness of the place, Elizabeth took the opportunity to massage the small of her back, throbbing from when she landed on it diving out of the carriage. Poor Father. Now is no time for innocence, he'd said, admonishing her, but unwittingly planting seeds of doubt in her mind. Never had she considered herself naïve and only innocent in the physical sense of the world. Would that require more than being kidnapped by the likes of Barbossa and almost sacrificed for his benefit? Surely an arrest on her record and a night in that musty, odiferous jail added to it all somehow. She heard footsteps from the veranda outside, the glow of a lantern nearing the office. She would just have to be extra cold and calculating with Beckett then, if she was as innocent as her father believed.

He entered and paused at his desk. The Letters, she winced, closing her eyes. The lid to the box with the Letters had been left askew. Well, she thought. Too late now.

"No doubt you've discovered loyalty is no longer the currency of the realm, as your father believes," he said, faced so he said it more to his work station than to her.

"Then what is?" She emerged from the darkness, the pistol he'd set on the fireplace mantle hidden in her hand behind her back. The man who believed her innocent was believed innocent by Beckett, she thought, her finger curling around the trigger.

"I'm afraid currency is the currency of the realm."  
"I expect then that we can come to some sort of understanding." She strolled to him, head erect, shoulders squared, the rage still in her supplying her confidence. "I'm here to negotiate."

"I'm listening."

It came too easy to her, pointing a pistol right at him, her arm and hand steady.

"I'm listening intently."

Allowing herself a smirk, she held up the Letters of Marque, waving them a fraction. "These Letters of Marque—they are signed by the king."

"Yes, and they're not valid until they bear my signature and my seal."

"Or else I would not still be here!" she snapped. Did he think her so stupid she would linger around waiting for him just to say hello? Her smirk almost widened into a grin, remembering the information she knew that Beckett did not. Maybe he would call off his hunt. "You sent Will to get you the compass owned by Jack Sparrow. It will do you no good."

"Do explain," Beckett said, relaxing in front of the barrel of her pistol.

"I have been to the Isla de Muerta. I have seen the treasure myself." She stalked towards him, every impulse in her body begging him to give her a reason to pull the trigger. "There is something you need to know."

"Ah, I see. You think the compass leads only to the Isla de Muerta and so you hope to save me from an evil fate." She tensed her muscles to refrain from flinching. "But you mustn't worry. I care not for cursed Aztec gold. My desires are not so provincial." His hands behind his back, he gazed at his map of the world, a colossal mass reduced to a few squiggles and scribbles. "There is more than one chest of value in these waters." He turned back to her, smugger than ever. "So perhaps you may wish to enhance your offer."

Offers and negotiations are all just a pretense when a pistol is involved, she thought, holding the pistol under his chin, stopping him in his tracks. Her adrenaline coursed through her, her heart drumming, her veins boiling. Such a rush was nothing short of…sexual, she guessed behind flushed cheeks, or so she had been told.

"Consider into your calculations you robbed me of my wedding night," she gnarled, guiding him to his desk, watching him sign the Letters with such a hawk-like intensity her eyes strained. He dipped his ring and pressed his knuckles into the thick, rich pages, sealing them.

"So I did, a marriage interrupted." He sealed another page. "Or fate intervenes."

Anything spewing from Beckett that didn't involve power or oppression would have captured her attention, she told herself, recovering from a second of flustered wonder. "You're going to great lengths to ensure Jack Sparrow's freedom," he said, holding out the Letters.

"These aren't going to Jack!" she blurted, snatching them.

"Oh, really?" he scoffed. "To ensure Mr. Turner's freedom then? I'll still want that compass," he whispered, the change in his tone so abrupt Elizabeth's ears experienced whiplash. "Consider that into your calculations."

Keeping him at the point of her pistol, she stretched her fingers to pick up her skirt in the same hand that held the Letters, never taking her eyes off him. A million, and at the same time, zero, rebuttals flooded her mind, only to be washed away by the clawing, ever-present sense of self-preservation, escape. Shoot him. Shoot him now, something inside thundered at her. Why? I have what I want. There's no good reason now. Because you want to, it sang. The pistol served its purpose, she said to herself, breaking into a run for the harbor. It was a ploy, a bluff. And would it have been a bluff had he not given you what you wanted? Afraid to answer herself, she quickened her pace.

* * *

**A/N: If you google search "Elizabeth Swann wedding dress," you should see what the dress looked like before the rain rendered it the same color as some baby feces. The before is actually a beautiful dress and Elizabeth is a knockout in it, a sharp contrast from how she looks when she's arrested…although she still always manages to look better than me, even on my best day. I'm not sure if "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring" was played at weddings during this time period, but it was very popular when it was written in 1723 and with Wagner's "Bridal Chorus" not yet around, I had to come up with something. The scene with Elizabeth and Beckett was one of the hardest to write, namely because hindsight is 20/20, as they say, and had she shot Beckett when she'd had the chance, a lot of nastiness would never have happened, so watching it with knowing eyes makes her appear a tad stupid, but she's far from that, so it took a lot of analysis, and I mean a lot, so please reward me with a review!**


	33. Chapter 33

2 Days Before

Well, another fine stew you've gotten yourself into, literally, if these degenerates have their way. Jack sat on his throne, his fingers drumming on the edge of the seat, while the Pelegostos stoked the bonfire, dancing around it in some rapturous frenzy. Wigs and candles were peppered throughout the natural materials. One would think as often as they trade someone would come by, Jack thought. And that's not helping you think, is it? He shook his head and closed his eyes, feeling the painted eyes on his eyelids cool in the shade. Too many times his body lurked to the side of the throne, knowing all it had to do was throw over a leg and heave itself over and he could make a run for the _Pearl_, still beached. But rounding up the crew…that boy's drinking out of a human skull, he noted when he opened his eyes. Economical. No! Think, idiot. Think!

"_Kali kali ten dada!" _he heard, pursing his lips at trying to remember all their phrases. Closing his eyes again, he tried to block out any and all distractions until he heard a thud too loud to be ignored. Snapping his eyes open, he froze, half-convinced the lad hogtied on their spit was not William Turner, not the boy he'd met a year ago who sprung him from jail and saved him from a hanging.

"Jack, Jack Sparrow," Will said, something of a giggle in his voice, his speech loose and free. "I can honestly say I'm glad to see you!" he laughed. He's either drunk or still a might loopy from their darts, Jack thought, still stunned at the sight. Standing, he took a few stiff steps toward him and poked him. Real. Not a dream. Two Turners in two months that were flesh.

"Jack, it's me! Will Turner!" His voice grew sharper, more lucid.

_"Pase ko?" _Jack asked the warrior. What's all this?

_"Idada espige!" _Kill this spy!

_"Espige!" _the tribe shouted, echoing the warrior's assumption. Jack circled around the spit, blocking out the millions of questions swarming in his mind. The lad that knew about hinges and swords and outlandish escape attempts could free Gibbs and the rest from those blasted balls.

"Jack, tell them to let me down!"

Ah, but I would not be putting your usefulness to good use if I did that, he thought, his hands compensating for his still face with miniscule gestures of escape he designed in his mind. Will would free the crew…somehow…and they would free him…somehow. Genius, he bit his tongue at himself. Better than nothing.

_"Kelay lum. Lum piki piki. Lum eensie weensie." _He bent over, closer to Will, memorizing the completely lost expression on a normally sober, intelligent face. Jack smirked, adding, "_Lum say say eunchey. Snip snip."_

The tribe shook their heads, some mourning, others just disgusted. Such a flaccid man could not possibly be a spy.

"Jack, the compass! That's all I need!"

Oh, William, take it from me this is no time to be thinking about what you want, rather what you need, which is to escape, so I can escape, so we can continue our lives to the amusement of Calypso.

"Elizabeth is in danger!" Will continued. "We were arrested for trying to help you! She faces the gallows!"

Oh. Well then, there was no choice but to execute this plan, gaps or no gaps.

_"Snay say sha. Smomy lama shuku." _Waste not. Fine specimen of meat. _"Savvy? Bon liki liki."_

_"Bon liki liki!" _More meat!

"Save me," he whispered down to Will right before they picked up the spit and carried him away. With no choice but to sit back on the throne, Jack wondered how long a wait would be too long while adding a step to his plan. Will would free the crew…somehow…and they would free him…somehow…and then he would find some way to save Lizzie…somehow. Even more genius now, he thought, rolling his eyes at himself.

"Jack, what did you tell them? No! What about Elizabeth? Jack!"

I'm working on that, mate, he thought. Always rushing things. I'm coming, love.

* * *

Pumping his arms, screaming with every sand-dragging footfall, Jack raced to the _Pearl_, casting off already. His boots wanted to stick to the wet sand no matter how high he kicked up his knees. At last he jumped up on to the _Pearl_ like leaping into a lover's arms. Clutching her for dear life, he turned back at the tribe, shoulders slumped and jaws agape. He couldn't help but grin.

"Alas, my children!" he called to them. "This is the day you shall always remember as the day that you almost…" A wave crashed over him, drenching him. "Captain Jack Sparrow," he muttered, somehow feeling the makeup running down his cheeks. His clothes and hair heavy, he hoisted himself over the railing and onto the deck.

"Let's put some distance between us and this island and head out to open sea," Gibbs said, running towards him, Pintel and Ragetti throwing his coat over him…what? Prioritize, Jackie-boy. The man just said open sea.

"Yes to the first, yes to the second, but only insofar as we keep to the shallows as much as possible." He shivered in his coat, the sky overcast. The end to a perfect day, he growled up at it.

"That seems a bit contradictory, Captain."

"I have every faith in your reconciliatory navigational skills, Mr. Gibbs. Now where is that monkey? I want to shoot something."

"Jack!" Will called to him. Well, he'll do. "Elizabeth is in danger."

"Have you considered keeping a more watchful eye on her? Maybe just lock her up somewhere?" It occurred to him climbing up the steps to the helm that, had he not earlier mentioned gallows, William's definition of danger when it came to Lizzie might be a dramatically different definition than his own.

"She is locked up, in a prison, bound to hang for helping you."

"There comes a time when one must take responsibility for one's mistakes," he threw out, setting his jaw at the idea of showing Will the cloth with the key on it. The _Flying Dutchman _was powerful enough to probably demolish any prison men could erect, Jack thought, the aftermath of attaining the key and the chest suddenly becoming the focal point. At any rate, he would wield enough power to get her out of there somehow, and he would give her a ship of her own. A big ship. A ship joined at the _Pearl_'s hip.

"I need that compass of yours, Jack." Good God, when had he pulled out a sword? "I must trade it for her freedom."

Jack made a mental note to also throw in a ship for Will. But first things first. They needed the key much faster than originally thought, and the only person who might know where the key was…Jack's heart skipped a beat.

"Mr. Gibbs."

"Captain?"

"We have a need to travel upriver." What could they give her? His eyes scanned the deck and settled on Jack the Monkey still tormenting Ragetti. He allowed himself a small snort at the prospect of throwing in Ragetti as a bonus.

"You mean a need as in a trifling need, fleeting, as in, say, a passing fancy?"

"No, a resolute and unyielding need." They looked at each other, stoic, but seeing the trepidation in the other one's eyes. Tia Dalma would just as soon cast them all into stone before helping them, turn them all into pigs just like Circe. Even simply calling out the name Davy Jones so he could somehow step on land and claim them all was not out of reach.

"What we need to do is make sail for Port Royal with all haste," Will argued, and Jack balled up his fists on the rail to keep from snapping at him.

"William, I shall trade you my compass if you will help me to find this." He laid out the drawing of the key, watching Will's dubious expression.

"You want me to find this?"

"No, you want to you to find this. Because the finding of this finds you incapacitorially finding and or locating in your discovering the detecting of a way to free your dolly belle ol' what's-her-face, savvy?" He turned away quickly, his lips dry from the insult. Don't overcompensate with needless insults now, he told himself. She is suffering because of you, you know. She wouldn't be alive if it weren't for me, he argued with himself. Aye, and you don't want to be alive without her… Stop. Just stop now, mate.

"This is going to save Elizabeth?" Why was she so drawn to someone who always looked ready to deck someone in the face?

"How much do you know about Davy Jones?" he countered.

"Not much."

"Yeah, it's going to save Elizabeth." Just in a roundabout way, darling. Promise.

* * *

Jack remembered the humidity of the river, everything with a glaze of sweat or slime, even the tree bark. Their branches entwined above them, encasing them in another world, a dark, mystical one where the fireflies danced at all hours of the day as well as the night. The children that had wailed and vomited in the _Pearl_, then _Wench_'s, hull were now grown, their shadows rustling in the brush, chasing their own children. The last time Jack had visited, they'd ran out to welcome him, lavishing unwanted praise in his face, the older men and women even hobbling to him with their walking sticks. Maybe Tia Dalma had told them this would be a business trip, not pleasure, he thought.

They tied off the boats, the river still and murky, not allowing even the crudest reflection of Tia Dalma's shack to appear to them. Giving Will a short speech and a confident smile, he turned to the rickety door and gulped. Perception, mate, as always. He cracked his neck and mustered up his most disarming grin.

"Jack Sparrow!" She looked up from her table, her mocha skin glowing in the golden light. With bloodshot eyes and a shabby dress, Tia Dalma still rivaled many ladies in beauty, he decided.

"Tia Dalma!" Her smile bolstered him and he wound through the clutter, nearly smacking into a hanging jar of eyeballs on his way to her, his grin growing more cautious by the second.

"I always knew da wind was gwine to blow ye back to me one day," she laughed, her proximity and playful black lips indicating she was pleased to see him…good sign. "You." Jack turned to see her eyes widen at Will, and then through him, as if she saw decades into his future. He held her in a trance as she neared him. "You have a destiny about you, William Turner."

"You know me?" he asked.

"You want to know me?" Her eyes darkened as one of her smooth fingers curled around one of her dreadlocks. Whatever mating ritual or pheromones were in the air switched targets, Jack observed, Will leaning down to her in a stupor. It was like going back in time and watching the past, he thought, knowing there were just some women whose kisses always led to trouble.

"There'll be no knowing here," he interjected, leading Tia Dalma away from Will, who looked like he had just shaken water out of his ears. "We came here for help and we're not leaving without it." Gentler, mate, gentler. "I thought I knew you," he teased.

"Not so well as I'd hoped," she jibed. "Come."

"Come." He gestured to the crew. They followed him to her table, hesitating to sit before she did.

"So what service may I do ye?" she asked, her attentions still on Will, caressing his jaw and neck with such aggression his head rocked. "Ye know I demand payment."

"I brought payment," Jack said, whistling to Pintel. He brought forth the cage. "Look!" He fired his pistol, the screeches the monkey made music to his ears. "An undead monkey! Top that!"

Tia Dalma inspected the monkey before opening the tiny door of the cage. The furry recipient of Jack's name scampered across the table and into one of the back rooms, its screeches lowering into coos, obviously finding something in the disarray homey. She watched it go.

"No! You've no idea how long it took us to catch that," Gibbs moaned.

"The payment is fair," she said.

Fair? Try bloody amazing, he wanted to say before remembering he should breathe a sigh of relief that she accepted it at all.

"We're looking for this and what it goes to," Will said, taking the lead and displaying the cloth on her table. Tia Dalma froze, blood abandoning her face. For a moment, all she could do was stare at drawing from above. Jack fingered the hodgepodge of items nearby, pretending to not know why it would affect her so. He picked up a large hat with a feather in it, trailing the brim. It triggered arguments made at such short range only raindrops came between them, cabin doors making the habit of locking so no one could follow him in, interrupted huddles that hushed when Jack would approach, and, most poignantly, a narrow spit of land all but forgotten if not for rum runners. Had she paid a visit to Isla de Muerta and seen Barbossa's body? Had she been the reason it was probably now a coral reef?

"The compass you bartered from me, it cannot lead you to this?"

The question pulled him back into the room, his crew's eyes on him.

"Maybe," he muttered, eyes searching everywhere for a lie. "Why?"

"Ah," she laughed, wagging a knowing finger at him. "Jack Sparrow does not know what he wants! Or do ye know, but are loathe to claim it as your own?" She paused, smiling that enigmatic smile all women seemed to have when they know a secret. "Your key go to a chest and it's what lay inside the chest you seek, don't it?"

"What is inside?" Gibbs asked, testing her. Even now he never let on that he knew, Jack smiled, always playing dumb for the rest.

"Gold? Jewels? Unclaimed properties of a valuable nature?" Pintel ventured, his eyes and lips already appraising every imaginary item.

"Nothing bad, I hope," Ragetti swallowed, eye locked on the jar of eyeballs next to him.

"Ye know of Davy Jones, yes?" She waited, maintaining that wicked, knowing grin. "A man of the sea, a great sailor…till he run afoul of that which vex all men."

"What vexes all men?" Will breathed. Tia Dalma reached over and stroked his hand, fondling every peak and valley to the point it left little to the imagination as to what she could do with the rest of a man.

"What indeed?"

"The sea!" Gibbs tried after a pause.

"Sums."

"The dichotomy of good and evil."

"A woman," Jack groaned, rolling his eyes at them. It was the same story he'd heard from his mother, a tragic love story to rival that of Romeo and Juliet, the same story he'd heard from his feather, a cautionary tale about letting the sea extol too much, the same story he'd heard from other pirates who both pitied and loathed said woman.

"A woman," Tia Dalma repeated. "He fell in love."

"No, no, I heard it was the sea he fell in love with," Gibbs said, and normally, Jack would not argue stories with Gibbs.

"Same story, different versions and all are true!" She sat straighter, entrancing them all with her authority, her words, the sheer strangeness of her. "It was a woman as changing, harsh, and untamable as da sea. Him never stop loving her. But da pain it cause him was too much to live with, but not enough to cause him to die."

"What exactly did he put into the chest?" Will asked, bristling. Jack raised an eyebrow at the sudden tenseness coming over the lad.

"Him heart," she said, placing her hand over her own. Jack blocked out Pintel and Ragetti's jabbering, waiting for the details. Come on now, he pleaded with her in his mind. The details now. Something I didn't know before I came in.

"It was not worth feeling what small, fleeting joy life brings, and so him carve out him heart, lock it away in a chest, and hide the chest from da world. Da key, he keep wid him at all times."

"You knew this!" Will stood, almost nose to nose with Jack. Why all the tenseness indeed?

"I did not," he said, adding on an extra layer of calm just for spite. "I didn't know where the key was, but now we do. So all that's left is to climb aboard the _Flying Dutchman_, grab the key, you go back to Port Royal and save your bonnie lass, eh?" Easy as pie.

"Let me see your hand," he heard Tia Dalma demand, holding out her own. Hesitating, he extended his right in a mock handshake before her glare halted him. Like owning up to all his petty childhood sins for Mum, he held out his left. She undid some of his lace to reveal the angry Black Spot still soiling his hand.

"The Black Spot!" Gibbs gasped, spitting and turning in a circle. The idiots followed suit as Jack and Will exchanged a look, a rare "what next" glance, for once thinking the same thing at the same time. What was the world coming to if such occurrences were taking place, Jack thought with wide eyes, wondering if he would see some flying pigs before it was all over.

"My eyesight's good as ever, just so you know," he said to Gibbs, holding up his other palm. Tia Dalma disappeared behind her all-but-transparent, torn curtain, mumbling to herself, freeing Jack's eyes to roam over the table where crab claws and matchsticks and rings lay strewn about it. Jack picked up the ring, a geometric, precise gold ring with a simple circular jewel, too black to be a ruby but too red to be a garnet. He pocketed it, shuddering at the locket next to it, a silver heart-shaped face. He raised his eyebrow at it, but the sudden shuffling of her dress brought his eyes upward.

"Davy Jones cannot make port, cannot step on land but once every ten years. Land is where you are safe, Jack Sparrow, so you will carry land wid you." She presented him a large glass jar, her fingers enveloping it as much as they could, with as much reverence as one might present someone a crown.

"Dirt." It felt like dead weight in his hands. "This is a jar of dirt."

"Yes."

"Is the jar of dirt going to help?"

"If ye don't want it, give it back."

"No." He hugged it to him.

"Then it help," she said with a smile. Bloody witch, he thought, shielding the jar from Pintel's curious eyes.

"It seems we have a need to find the _Flying Dutchman_," Will sighed with a resigned smile.

* * *

**A/N: This was one of the hardest chapters to write because the scene in Tia Dalma's shack is one of my favorite scenes in the whole series and, I think, one of the most important, so I needed to do it justice. I wrote it watching a part of the scene, pausing it, and then writing. Watch, pause, write, repeat. So if you think Will's receptiveness to Tia Dalma's flirtations is just me bashing him, think again. Not that Will is a cheater or anything, but any man would react this way to someone like Tia Dalma coming onto him. Oh, and in case you couldn't tell, I love foreshadowing.**


	34. Chapter 34

2 Days Before

Elizabeth crawled out from under the blankets in the hull, a few decks above where the men slept, their sweat and gasses permeating up to her. Rubbing her eyes, she licked her lips and stretched her back, the lumpy blankets and hard deck turning what should have amounted to soreness into searing pain. Allowing herself a groan, she straightened her legs out in front of her and stretched until her hands could reach her toes, a layer of dust and sand over her shins, she noticed. The ship could reach Tortuga that very night if she worked all day, the main challenge finding which one of the dolts had her dress.

She'd dreamt she'd worn it, rain-soaked and all, in front of Jack, spinning around in it for him, the rain weighing down her hair and sliding off her skin. He'd taken her in a lover's embrace and cut layer after layer of it off until she'd been bare in front of him. Before her dream self had even had the time to downcast her eyes, he'd cupped her face and kissed her, a deep…reassuring kiss; that was the only word that could describe it after she'd woken up panting and recovered.

* * *

1 Day Before

Her eyes watered at the stench permeating from James as she adjusted her arm around his back to steady him. Even through the thick sleeve she could feel something wet and goopy sticking to it, hopefully mud, she thought. Glancing up at him, her lips tucked into her mouth. The corners of his mouth were dried with chunks of something clinging to them.

"Where are we going?" he asked, his eyes squinting down at her. "I don't blame you for staring."

"I've always felt you had a very classical jaw," she said, making a fist and burrowing it into the large sleeve. Shooting her arm up, she wiped a trickle off of his jaw. Even when it's covered in grime. "Even now."

"Where are we going, Elizabeth? Why are you here?" The harshness snapped her head up, suddenly feeling a connection to his men, receiving orders so firm that disobedience was not an option.

"I'm tracking down Will."

"Will. Turner? He…" He snorted and shook his head, relaxing the arm he had around her for balance. "He left you? Your wedding was scheduled…"

"And was violently broken up by Lord Beckett himself. He's looking for you too, you know."

"For me?"

"Apparently not everyone took your choice to give Jack a head's start to be all that sporting," she yawned, her boots dragging along the gravelly path. A few pistol shots roared across the street from them, followed by an echo of screeching crackling. Her eyes wandered to the shipyard, only the masts visible over the buildings and couples locked in tight, raunchy embraces. Elizabeth blushed, thankful for the hat covering most of her face.

"I think I can manage." James broke away from her and held out his arms. "That's better. Now, Elizabeth, this is hardly the place for you. We need to get you back to your father with all haste. Perhaps we can find a captain down at the harbor who could be trustworthy."

"That's not a possibility," she said, biting her lip at the idea she'd left her father at Beckett's mercy. "Besides, I already have a captain in mind to see."

"Wh…oh, you cannot be serious." With a sudden spring in his step, he crossed in front of her and held his arms out, blocking her. "Elizabeth."

"James." She gazed up at him, claiming his eyes, matching his tone. "Will left to find Jack. I find Jack, I find Will. Now they're both in trouble if things stay the way they are, so if you'll excuse me." He gripped her arms, shuffling out his legs to keep her from taking a step. "James! Stop being a child!"

"I can't let you go down to Tortuga's shipyard by yourself, of all places!"

"I'm the one who saved you," she growled, her arm reaching back for her sword. "Thank you, but I can take care of myself."

"You expect me to hear you're going to meet back up with Jack Sparrow and just 'hitch a ride' on the _Black Pearl_ and not try to stop you? It's the _Black Pearl. _If your honor is still intact by the time you reach her, you'll still have the entire East India Trading Company and the Royal Navy out looking for you!" A brief second of passion Elizabeth had never seen in his eyes flared up, so fierce she backed away from him.

"James, if you're so worried, and, provided you're sober enough to be of any use, you can come with me." Shoving him, she broke out of his grasp and stomped down to the shipyard.

"Fine. Wait for me."

"Certainly my chaperone can keep up with me!" she yelled back to him, hands clenching at her sides. She followed the perpendicular lines of the masts and sails until she froze at the sight of solid black ones near the end. The rips and holes had been patched, each new stitch lassoing the ship from its supernatural clutches and pulling it back into the real world. Gasping, she realized she'd been holding her breath.

"Well, there she is," James panted, catching up to her. "Do you really think he'll want to see you?"

Elizabeth darted down the pier, forcing the budding grin on her face to freeze into a sneer. Jack might put her through hell, but he would help her. The ring and orchids told her he'd be pleased to see her, even if his face wouldn't. There he was, coat on, back to her, hat missing. She choked back her voice to keep from crying out to him, waving her arms and embarrassing both him and herself. Clearing her throat, she called out to him.

"Captain Sparrow?"

"Hear to join me crew, lad? Welcome aboard," he said in one breath. Elizabeth rolled her eyes at the assumption.

"I'm here to find the man I love." She smirked at him stopping, allowing her to halt right behind him.

"I'm deeply flattered, son, but my first and only love is the sea."

"Meaning William Turner, Captain Sparrow."

There. A turn, those eyes widening in recognition for a flash before adopting disinterest, just as she pictured they would the last time she'd been in Tortuga, almost a year ago. She could barely hear the words coming out of his mouth, even though his voice drizzled right down her throat and pulled on her chest.

"Jack," she cut him off, images of Will flooding her mind. "I know Will came to see you. Where is he?"

A sigh. Not good, she thought, her forehead knitting when he came closer.

"Darling, I'm truly unhappy to have to tell you this, but through an unfortunate and entirely unforeseeable series of circumstances that have nothing whatsoever to do with me, poor Will has been press ganged into Davy Jones' crew."

"Davy Jones?" Her books ripped open in her mind's eye, the name bursting out from the pages…death…Locker…eternity.

"Oh please," James coughed out behind her. She lurched at the sound, forgetting he'd been there. "The captain of the _Flying Dutchman_?" Davy Jones, the captain of the _Flying Dutchman, _who sailed the seas for all eternity finding those lost at sea. In theory, she reminded herself, some of the books more in depth of just how Jones found those lost at sea and what he did with them.

"You look bloody awful," Jack said. "What are you doing here?"

"You hired me!" James argued. "I can't help it if your standards are lax."

"You smell funny."

"Jack." She almost laughed.

He snapped back to her.

"All I want is to find Will."

"I know…" For a split second, they locked eyes and hers widened. For a split second, she could see thoughts, gears turning, his mind suddenly knowing how to take disadvantages and transform them into advantages, and she was along for the ride. "Are you certain? Is that really what you want most?"

"Of course," she said with a bite. Stupid girl, let the whores be the ones whose judgment and common sense shut off, she told herself.

"Because I would think you would want to find a way to save Will most." He led her down the pier, hand on her shoulder.

"And you would have a way of doing that?"

"Well, there is a chest…"

"Oh dear," James moaned, closer to them than Elizabeth had thought.

"A chest of unknown size and origin…"

"What contains the still beating heart of Davy Jones!" Elizabeth cocked her head, Pintel and Ragetti loading crates onto the ship. How did… She turned back to Jack and opened her mouth, but he kept going, most likely tired of being interrupted. Pressing her lips together, a swift dose of reality nudged her heart into racing speed. She was going to be on this ship. They were going to be on this ship. They were all going to be on this ship together for God knew how long… Focus.

"And whoever possesses this chest possesses the leverage to command Jones to do whatever it is he or she wants, including saving brave William from his grim fate."

"You don't actually believe him, do you?"

Jack gave her a look, the corners of his eyes still on James and finding every fault in the world with him, as if asking her, "isn't it I who should be asking you that in regards to him."

"How do we find it?" she asked, forcing a great deal of non-committal resignation into the question. She should have known there would be some kind of quest involved. No one said a pirate's life was an easy life, little bird, she heard in her mother's voice.

"Ah!" Jack brightened. "With this. My compass is unique."

"Unique here having the meaning of broken!" James interjected.

"True enough. This compass does not point north." Said so cryptically, like a street illusionist, she noted, catching herself leaning into him.

"Where does it point?" She wiped a burgeoning smile off her face, Jack's excitement and theatrical explanation contagious.

"It points to the thing you want most in this world," he said, lower, closer to her, holding her gaze with so much power she felt helpless. Oh, Jack, only you would have something like that.

"Jack," she said, almost voicing the thought out loud when several bells rang in her head, various tutors' voices lecturing about critical thinking. "Are you telling the truth?" she added, knowing the answer.

"Every word, love," said, so gently Elizabeth couldn't recall him ever using such a tone. Yes, she could, in the cell, days before he was scheduled to hang, only the bars standing in their way, mindlessly stroking his hand while he murmured those words. "Kiss me." She almost had, had almost given in and counted herself lost.

"And the thing you want most in this world is to find the chest of Davy Jones, is it not?" He took her hand and brought it up to the compass and then did the same with her other one, until the compass was immersed in their fingers.

"To save Will." Oh, no, you don't. I'll hold you to your bargain, Jack. See to that.

"By finding the chest of Davy Jones," he said in such a way with a nod that it made her wonder if he had heard her last thought. Giving her a mock expression of suspense, he opened the compass and backed away from her.

Peering down at the compass, the red arrow tilted and then settled on a point northeast of where she was, so deliberate Elizabeth gasped out loud, imagining someone below it positioning it.

"Mr. Gibbs," Jack called up to the plank, bending low beside her to peek at the arrow.

"Captain?"

"We have our heading!" He stood and paced in a half-circle around her, his eyes searching for something on her or in her she couldn't decipher.

"Finally!" Gibbs blurted. "Cast off those lines! Weigh anchor and prow that canvas!"

"Miss Swann?" Jack gave a slight bow and gesture to the plank. Elizabeth scaled the plank and stepped onto the deck of the _Pearl_, inhaling at the same time her foot shuffled back, her body remembering the last time she'd stepped aboard. A far cry from that, she reminded herself, and hurried over to the capstan, bracing herself against one of the spokes and pushing, the device at last beginning to turn right when she grunted.

"Oy! Step back from there. You're likely to get trampled over," Jack said, standing a good distance away with his arms folded.

"I'm fine," she groaned, heaving harder into the spoke, feeling the jolt from the other men pushing. Side-stepping in next to her, Jack took hold of it, the sound of the ropes coiling around the capstan growing louder. She gave out another grunt and pushed, her arm bracing into his for leverage.

"Fare thee well, my lovely Dinah/A thousand times adieu," the man behind her started to sing in time with their circular path. Too tired to be anything but compliant with it, she adjusted her steps. "We are bound away from the Holy Ground/And the girls we love so true/We'll sail the salt seas over/And we'll return once more/And still I live in hope to see/The Holy Ground once more."

"You're the girl that I adore/And still I live in hope to see/the Holy Ground once more," the others joined in, except for her and Jack, still pushing.

"Ye look about ready to drop, love. Still able to squeeze out, ye know," he said in a loud whisper over the song.

"This isn't my first time casting off, Jack," she said, fighting off another yawn. Her arms trembled, minutes away from buckling, she knew, feeling the work had reduced them to pudding.

"Suit yourself."

"Now when we're out a-sailing/And you are far behind/Fine letters will I write to you/With the secrets of my mind/The secrets of my mind, my girl."

Jack whistled over at one of the crewmen and cocked his head. The wide-eyed, matted man bustled over to them and squeezed his way in between them and the spokes at the same time Jack took her arm and pulled her out of the path, the man belting out the chorus of the song louder than the others, Elizabeth noticed, even with the absence of most of his teeth.

Batting her eyelashes, she stuffed her hands into her pockets, her fingers brushing against the compass. Oh, she sighed, pulling it out and balancing it on her palm. She extended her arm to Jack.

"Nay, hold onto it."

"There's no sense in not helping cast off and laying claim to your possessions both," she shot back, matching his look that seemed to say, "I know better than you."

"Ye look ready to drop," he said again.

"We have a million things to discuss…"

"That we do, namely how is it you've arrived in Tortuga?" He smirked, watching her shake the sleeves of her coat so her hands didn't vanish into it. Smiling at it, she caught herself and half-turned, shaking her hair loose from the tight tail she'd bundled it into earlier.

"Gowns and superstitions," she said, adding in a smirk of her own, telling him about the _Edinburgh. _

"Ah, that does make sense." His arm slipped around her back, leading her down the deck. "Firing shots is far overrated, eh?"

She laughed right before she saw the cabin door. Wiggling away from him, she bit her lip and closed her eyes. Not sure if she could control her voice, she scanned the deck, taking a few deep breaths. "Where did you send James?"

Propping an elbow up onto a ladder, he relaxed his stance and glanced back to the deck. "Bugger must be below decks. We'll see how he survives the rest of the crew." He shot her a wicked grin.

"They know who he is, don't they? Won't they hurt him?"

"They'd be mad not to."

"Jack!" She paused at the stairs leading down into the belly of the _Pearl. _"Please. He's only tagging along with me. Don't, don't let them hurt him. He's gone through such a difficult time." Her shoulders slumped at the recollection as to just why it had been a difficult time for James.

"I wonder why that might be," he answered with some bite, Elizabeth knowing exactly what he would say. "It is indeed a difficult endeavor to even attempt to bring down Captain Jack Sparrow and either ram his sword into me in the heat of battle or drag me back to the gallows…been a difficult time for everyone, darling. As far as I'm concerned, he can rough it down there with the rest of them." Leaning against the banister of the stairway, he called down, "Oy, you scabrous dogs! See to it the Commodore doesn't drink up any of me rum! He needs to be in pristine shape for what I have planned for him, so if I so much as catch sight of a bruise on him, there'll be the cat to answer to." He gave her an innocent smile as he returned to his spot on the ladder and opened the cabin door for her. "Now that the last of your worries has been seen to, what say you to calling it a night?"

Instead she climbed up to the helm, running her hand over everything it came in contact with, preparing to see a skeleton at any turn. It was like checking under your bed and wondering how stupid you were to have thought a monster lived there, she thought, allowing herself to finally take in the beauty of the ship. Her hand ran over the helm, Cotton nodding at her and making room for her just grip it. Continuing her inspection, she climbed back down and met Jack's…calling it an intrigued face was surely flattering herself, she blushed.

"It's nice to see her normal," she said, cringing, expecting him to lecture her that the _Black Pearl _was anything but normal, the words exceptional, colossal, and inspiring coming to mind. "I couldn't have imagined she'd be so beautiful," she added, attempting to cancel out her error.

"Aye, that she is and it's high time you let her rock ye to sleep, love." He opened the door wider. "Go on, Lizzie. Yours for the duration of your stay."

"And in exchange?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Proper heading would be nice."

"Thank you," she sighed, and stepped inside.

* * *

**A/N: Poor me, I had to watch this scene again to make sure I had all the positions and blocking correct…poor pitiful me. I surprised myself in that I'd never actually written (in a serious manner) the explanation of the compass scene because it's one of my favorites. Hee hee, Elizabeth imagining someone under the compass positioning is exactly how the effect is done in the movie, thanks to T&T's DMC commentary for that tidbit. The song is actually a shanty specifically for turning a capstan called "Holy Ground Once More" and the full lyrics and melody can be found at the Popular Songs in American History website, which has come in handy several times for me.**


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N: This is the second-to-last chapter, so please don't think I am going to end the story on a down note. There is more, just not much more. Please leave a review if you've enjoyed it. Even if you haven't, let me know why.**

* * *

1 Day Before

Up in the crow's nest, Jack traced the rim of the empty rum bottle with his finger, the vast starlight reflecting off of it. Wide awake, he shook his head, scolding himself for not just taking one of the night shifts at the helm instead of keeping his entire night free.

You know why you didn't and it all has to do with why you are not presently in your cabin and with who specifically is in said cabin that you never counted on in a million years actually being in, much less you playing the part of a gentleman and creating a reason why you are not presently in your cabin with the who that specifically is. Bugger, he was a pirate wasn't he? That had not changed, and it was his cabin, the blood and time and plotting he'd spent over the years the price he'd paid for it. Gazing down, Cotton still at the helm, he started his descent. Who was Cotton going to tell anyway?

Leaping off of one of the rungs, he shrugged his coat a little straighter on his shoulders, breath quickening. It's still a questionable thing to do, mate, he thought, hand resting on the doorknob. Damn it all, he told himself. Opportunities are meant to be taken. He flung open the door before he changed his mind.

"Jack!" he heard from his bed, the lump rolling out from the covers until Lizzie faced him, sitting up in her oversized, stolen blouse, her face frazzled. He'd expected her to be groggy and irritated from his barging in, not disoriented and looking rather guilty. Guilty? That could put one in a quandary. Finger-combing her hair, she cleared her throat and sat a little straighter, pulling the covers up higher. "Was there something you wanted?"

You. Always you. Only you—a million answers all leading back to the same source whose hair was fluffed and unkempt from laying on it.

"Just turning in is all." He pretended to ignore her bewildered expression, closing the door behind him and strolling to the bed, throwing off his coat. Standing at the side of it, the one farthest from her, he kicked off his boots.

"Excuse me? You gave me this cabin for the night."

"Then it occurred to me that decision left me nowhere to go." He plopped onto the bed, not taking his eyes off her. "I could slum it with the crew, but even you'll agree with me that it wouldn't be fitting at all for a captain to act so unprofessionally as all that. Fraternization spurs all matter of grievances and problems on a ship."

"Fine, just, just stay on that side," Lizzie said, sliding back down into the bed. "It's a large bed. We should both have plenty of room."

"Do you want to know why I have a large bed?" he asked innocently.

"A few guesses come to mind."

"Oh, do favor me with voicing those guesses out loud, love. Knowing you're corrupt isn't half as fun as hearing evidence that you are." That playful look, the one that deemed a challenge to be nothing more than a menial task stole his breath, her hair cascading down the pillow.

"Large women?" she tried, rolling onto her side to face him. Jack had not meant to laugh, but he did.

"That is a guess, I'll give ye that. So those poor merchant sailors you terrorized into bringing you here…how did they enjoy Tortuga?"

"I'm sure they'll not feel too put out," she said with her eyes closed, Jack seizing the opportunity to scoot just an inch closer to her. "What of you? I'm sure you've had some adventures since I last saw you."

"Where to begin?" He meant it rhetorically, but saw she had edged closer to him, propped up with her tired head resting on her hand, her hair falling every which way.

He recounted the year, able to quote mostly from his log, allowing him to focus more on her face. Her eyelashes blinked more and more frequently around her puffy eyes, but they still managed to convey some sort of eagerness he guessed to be half awe and half envy, the whole effect so entrancing he pinched the sheet to keep from leaning over and kissing her. She laughed in the right places and even at the not-so-right places at times, obviously finding something amusing that he did not at the time, but retrospection did have a way of inciting some humor.

"No wonder this chest has eluded you," she said. "You've been far too busy for it."

That's hardly why, love.

"All in a year's work, I suppose?"

"That chest will be hard-earned, to be sure," he agreed, catching some of her hair and winding it around his fingers, trying not to think about how they'd ended up close enough for him to do it…or that she either wasn't noticing or minding that he was doing so. "And how fares Miss Swann besides this sudden return to boy clothes?" Her eyes drifted to his effects, his sword sheathed on his belt.

"We could spar and you could see."

"If ye like losing."

"I think I'd surprise you."

"You always do." And yet, not. Bugger. Paradoxes shouldn't exist at…what was the time anyhow? It was too late at night to contemplate much of anything. He listened to the goings-on at Port Royal, her voice growing shakier every time she mentioned her father.

"Hard to embark on any kind of quest when one still has ties to home, isn't it?"

"We didn't part well, Father and me," she said, her fingers playing with the edge of the sheet before flicking it away from her. "He'd wanted me to go back to England." She looked at him like she expected him to respond. "That's when I ran away and stowawayed…is that even a word…on the _Edinburgh_. All I could think about was that if I found you, everything would fall into place."

That was going to rank right up there with "You're a smart man, Jack," he thought. Higher, even. Hell, all he needed to hear after it was that elusive "I love you" from his dreams to make it complete.

"Well, here you are," he said after clearing his throat. Here she was indeed, he thought, his eyes widening at the sensation of her burrowing closer to him, almost leaning on his chest, his heart pounding so frantically it was a wonder it didn't explode out of him and knock her on her feet.

"Oh yes," she snorted, not stopping him when he wrapped an arm around her waist, both of them taking some invisible cue to lie down flat on the bed. "That would decidedly take longer to explain to my father than a mere apology for running off."

"Agreed. That, darling, would probably require a novel." She laughed. He thought of asking her just what she made of Lord…what was the world coming to…Cutler Beckett, but such a name had no place in their bed…his bed…his bed with her in it. Good thing you're about to call it a night, mate, he scolded himself. He then thought about asking her about the wedding, but then scrunched his face at the fact she had not mentioned William since the pier. At all, some giddy little child in him pointed out. But he wanted to talk to her more…

"You could tell me a bedtime story," she yawned. There was an idea. "If you were feeling particularly sympathetic, you could tell me about a similar situation with your father."

"Let's avoid Captain Teague, shall we?" he said, so close to her now he spoke onto her head.

"Captain John Teague?" He could feel her weight shift. "That's your father? John Teague, the pirate who…"

"Yes," he sighed.

"You didn't even let me finish my question."

"I don't have to. Whatever you read, it's true. How about a similar situation involving me mum?"

"John Teague?" she asked again. "You know I saw an etching of him once. You're the spitting image of him and I never put two and two together."

"Tell me I'm a handsomer spitting image and I'll tell you that story," he bristled.

"Fine. You are a much handsomer version of your father. Now then…"

* * *

0 Days Before

Jack never imagined, and certainly he'd imagined it plenty of times, he would be able to literally sleep while sharing a bed with Elizabeth. But the blinding rays peeking through the windows and tapping on his eyelids told him otherwise. Reaching over her for a timepiece felt unusually natural, while the overall restfulness he felt was just plain unusual, he thought. His eyes bulged at the time—slept seven hours straight and no one would begin to miss him for another two. He could lie back down and resume the position of his arms around her with his chest pressed against her back and just lie there, relishing that his fiery, labyrinthine pirate of a girl had come to him, not the other way around.

Burrowing his face back into her hair, he inhaled, breathing in that with one of his pillows, their scents fused together. All right, he stiffened, no more thoughts like that or you're bound to poke her awake.

"Jack?" Elizabeth's eyes were still closed.

"What, darling?" His name said with such a moan, so hushed and weak it was too easy to imagine it said under different circumstances, specifically after said circumstances. She didn't speak for a long time, leading Jack to wonder if she had just talked in her sleep.

"Either get up or go back to sleep," she said in the same tone, her arm reaching back and finding his, gathering it and pulling to her front. She placed hers on top of it and cuddled it, snuggling deeper into the bed.

"Good advice." He tightened his hold on her and closed his eyes.

* * *

The sharp, slicing sound of Norrington driving the shovel back into the sand disrupted Jack's meditation at a steady beat. Even when he was being useful he was as irritating as hell, he winced before relaxing his face and concentrating only on his breathing. Recovering the chest would only be step one of the long and tedious process that would be tracking down the _Flying Dutchman _again, somehow sneaking aboard covertly, convincing Will it had been for the best that he had been left on the ship to find the key, and then get back on the _Pearl _control Davy Jones from a safe distance. Of course, all of that depended on two things: Will not cutting into him the moment he saw him and also being able to withstand Elizabeth running to him and throwing her arms around him.

"I don't suppose we'll be dividing the digging into shifts," he heard Norrington pant.

"Think of it this way, James," Elizabeth said. "Over by that church over there looks like loads of brush, countless hiding places for a chest, but Davy Jones chose to bury it on a white beach instead."

"I fail to see where you're going with this."

"Well, this way, if someone were to know to come here, he or she would have to put in all that muscle digging while enduring the sun blazing down on them and the tide rolling in and out. They would have to want it pretty badly to put up with all of that." Jack opened one eye in time to catch her shrug. "Every dig you make is a slap in Davy Jones' face."

"What?" Norrington slung the shovel over his back and stared at her.

"You're basically saying, 'I'll show you what I'm willing to go through' by digging it up. You're rising to his challenge," she said.

"That's hardly validating," Norrington grunted. Jack considered laughing, but instead puzzled over why Elizabeth felt like being snarky to her dear friend "James." He had not asked last night how the two of them had reunited. Maybe some kind of spat ensued? It didn't seem likely. While not peas in a pod…his lip twitched…she'd always seemed so fond of the good Commodore. It had to be something not his fault then, something else frustrating her. And so much for the process of elimination, he snorted at himself. It was hardly a fruitful time for any of them, much less Lizzie. Naturally she would be worried about Will. It had been so effortless convincing her the compass could help him…and it would, he reminded himself. He would play nicely with the eunuch and force Davy Jones to turn Bootstrap over to them, first and foremost if necessary and…compass. Heading. Compass. It doesn't work and it certainly doesn't show you what you want most…

Good Lord, that's what she had said before Norrington had started digging. It hadn't worked for her. His breath hitched. What could interfere with her wanting that chest to save her noble, heroic fiancé that was so above being a pirate unless his bonny lass required him to become one?

A thud startled him out of his contemplations. This was it. Scrambling to his feet, he bent over the hole where Norrington stood, Elizabeth joining them from the other side. All three froze, each trying to make out the outline of a chest in the darkness. They heaved a large chest out, dusting away the sand and then standing back to allow Jack to take the shovel and break the locks.

Inside, yellowed letters and crisped petals met their eyes, the beads off broken necklaces speckling every faded souvenir. All at once, their hands plunged into the keepsakes, skimming the Dutch words written in so delicate a calligraphy they could only be love letters. They lifted out a much smaller chest, crustaceous hearts and tentacles all twisting around each other like some undersea orgy. Jack leaned his head against it, feeling Norrington and Elizabeth do the same thing, knowing suddenly how it felt to put the glass slipper on Cinderella's foot or kiss Sleeping Beauty wide awake.

Thump.

Elizabeth lurched back, her eyes still on the chest.

Thump.

"It's real," she breathed.

Thump. And once he hopped onto the _Dutchman _and secured the key from William, he would dance to that very real heartbeat.

"You actually were telling the truth," Norrington said.

"I do that quite a lot," he said. "Yet people are always surprised."

"With good reason!"

Hurrying to his feet, he watched Elizabeth run over to Will, soaked and slightly more gaunt than the last time he'd seen him. He averted his eyes just as the two of them brought their faces closer together. He knew it would come, but not this soon…wait. Oh. He did a quick scan of the horizon. Not good. Not good at all.

"How did you get here?" he asked.

"Sea turtles, mate!" Will announced, salt water still stuck to his lips. "A pair of them strapped to my feet."

Smart ass.

"Not so easy, is it?"

"But I do owe you thanks, Jack."

"You do?" Jack took a step back, squinting.

"After you tricked me onto that ship to square your debt with Jones…"

"What?" Elizabeth squawked.

"What?"

"I was reunited with my father," Will growled.

"You're welcome then." Now hand over that key and I'll make it up to you.

"Everything you said to me, every word was a lie!" Elizabeth marched over to him, looking ready to unsheathe her sword and drive it right into him. Why did things either have to go better than according to plan or not at all according to plan? Why was there never a sort-of-according-to-plan?

"Pretty much," he exhaled. "Time and tide, love. Oy! What are you doing?"

Will stooped over the chest, a knife in hand.

"I'm going to kill Jones."

Had it been under any other circumstances or had the chest been just a little further away, Jack would have laughed and complimented him on the richness of his jests. Well, mate, he said to himself, drawing his sword, last time you should expect to do anything the easy way…

"Can't let you do that, William." He tilted the blade right under Will's chin. "If Jones is dead, who's to call his terrible beastie off the hunt, eh?" They glared at each other as Will stood, finally understanding a rivalry that had been in the works since the day they met, accepting it and rolling in it until one of them would… Will crossed right in front of Elizabeth and drew her sword.

"I keep the promises I make, Jack. I intend to free my father, and I hope you're here to see it." Their eyes still locked, sword tips inches away from each other, Jack prepared to make the first move.

"I can't let you do that either, so sorry."

Oh. His upper lip curled into a hesitant smile, Norrington's sword pointed at Will.

"I knew you'd warm up to me eventually."

Norrington repositioned his blade, the three of them forming a triangle with their swords. Ah well, Jack sighed. It had been a lovely image while it had lasted. He kept his sword at Will. The key. You can take care of the Commodore later.

"Lord Beckett desires the contents of that chest. I deliver it, I get my life back."

Pirate.

"Ah, the dark side of ambition," Jack said with gritted teeth. He tightened his grip. He was not going to be out-pirated by that sad sack of man. Not today, not ever. The rank, uptight, clotpole mumbled something about redemption and the fight commenced.

* * *

Lowering the longboat on his own had been the easy part, his chest and shoulders throbbing with every stroke. The current carried him out faster than he'd anticipated, the ensuing chaos on the _Pearl _appearing downright tranquil from a distance. Tentacles raced up the hull, sweeping at everything in sight. Splinters of wood and even a few people went flying, their screams cut short by the smack of hitting the water.

Jack's hands fell into his lap, each crunch a knife twisting his heart. He'd watched the _Pearl _die before and had wept until he'd made himself sick…only this time the depths would claim more.

With an eerie calm, he opened the lid of his compass and snarled at the arrow spinning out of control. Bloody thing never works when it needs to, he thought. It was supposed to point to Lizzie and force him back on that deck to save her once again, claim her from the sea once again.

So that's what you expect, he asked himself, still watching the red mass that was supposed to be an arrow if it would only stay still. Even though you'd determined you'd only kill and live for her and two out of three was not love? He slapped the lid shut and took the oars.

You'd die for her?

Yes. A thousand times yes.


	36. Epilogue

**A/N: I will warn you up front that this chapter is a little more M than the others. As usual, I'm saddened that I've arrived to the last chapter. This story has been a joy to imagine, research, write, edit, post, etc. I'd like to thank all my readers, especially the ones who left a review. On a side note, the last chapter of _The Sparrow's Journey _mentions this same day, just closer to the sunrise portion, whereas this story talks about what took place later on after sunset…in case you would like a more complete picture. Again, thank you, and I hope you've enjoyed reading as much as I have writing.**

* * *

3652 Days After

Jack picked up Cora and sat her on his other leg, the first one growing numb. She let her head fall back on him, exposing each tiny tooth. Bending over her, he kissed her forehead, setting the dozen-times-read tale of Sapia Liccarda back onto the nightstand next to them.

"Again."

"How many times have we read it just today?"

Cora shrugged, suppressing a yawn. The corner of his eye picked up the final traces of the sun sinking under the horizon. Will would be back on the _Flying Dutchman_, taking one last look at dry land before leaving it all behind for another ten years, leaving Lizzie and Billy behind.

"I don't suppose I can talk you into going to bed until Mum gets back, eh?" he asked her, his eyes never leaving the cabin windows. Could it really be called hope if he knew he would get it? She'd come back. He'd played out every scenario in his mind, knowing the worst-case one would be her coming back if only for their daughter. His eyes darted back to Cora, knowing if they weren't on her or the windows, they would be on the door, hoping, waiting with bated breath.

"Hello?"

He exhaled.

"Hello?" Billy repeated, rushing into the cabin, Elizabeth not far behind him. Jack stared at her, unsure if she had cried or not. She stopped at the basin and swallowed into the mirror, closing her eyes and inhaling as she loosed the piled-up sides of her hair and shook them out.

* * *

The sound of creaking springs woke her from her introspection, turning away from the mirror to find Billy jumping up onto Cora's bed, rattling off their day. His large brown eyes wide and alert, she smiled.

"…and then Father gave me this." Billy cradled his model ship, encased in a bottle, out, his hand stroking the barrel of it as if it were a pet.

"Now that is a sight," Jack said, inspecting it. Elizabeth's smile grew, watching Jack look it over. "He did tell you how it's done?" Billy nodded. "He's a talented one, your father, to be sure. Used to be, the only thing I thought he was good for was making swords…and getting out of tight spots…and his current occupation, of course."

"What did the two of you do today?" she asked, only moving over to the bed when Cora lifted both her arms in the air for her, mouthing "mum" at her.

"We swam!" she cried out, falling into Elizabeth's lap. "And then Papa gave me this book…" She slipped off the bed to pick the book off the nightstand to show her. "It has all the stories Grandma used to tell him. Right?"

"Almost all of them."

"Mum, there is this girl, Sapia Liccarda, and she had these two sisters, and there were three princes, and part of the story has her making a sugar paste statue of herself! One of the princes stabbed it, though, and he still thought it was her and told it he would suck her blood!"

Elizabeth raised her eyebrow at Jack, who only leaned back and met her stare with a challenging smirk.

"But he was sorry later," Cora continued. "And the book says they 'made their peace in bed.'"

"What did I tell you that meant?" Jack asked before Elizabeth could formulate a word.

"They had a con…contem…Papa?"

"Contemplative."

"A contemplative discussion," Cora said.

"Like what the two of you have," Billy added in, crossing over to his bed on the other side of the children's cabin, winding his ship-in-a-bottle in a piece of cloth and setting it into his drawer before pulling his nightshirt out of it. "That's like an important discussion, isn't it, Jack?"

"Very important," Jack laughed, Elizabeth bit her lip and shook her head, determined only to nod her head.

* * *

"Relax, love. No use worrying if you'll wake them or not. They'll be up all night anyway." Jack sprawled out on their bed, waiting for Elizabeth to comb out the last tangles in her hair before joining him. It fell in golden brown waves almost to her breasts. Arching his back upward, he cleared his throat.

"There's no need to remind me you're not wearing anything, Captain Sparrow. I'm well aware." The haughty tone did not match the softness of her face, Jack noticed, watching her set the comb down and climb up next to him. Running his fingers through her hair as she slid on top of him, his hand glided down her bare back.

Lizzie was not ever one to keep anything from him. She'd told him about seeing Will, spotless and unchanged, the ten years having no effect on him at all. She'd mentioned the surreal realization he was part of another world, that even kissing his cheek and watching him hand-in-hand with his son felt more like being visited by an angel rather than a family reunion. Of course it had made her recall the past, the eventful moments all culminating in their present.

"Missed you was all, love."

He closed his eyes at her kiss, cupping her cheeks, opening his mouth. How stupid he'd been, he thought, remembering the days leading up to his confrontation with Davy Jones, aching for her so much he would have begged for just one kiss, one moment. One was not enough. No amount could ever be enough.

* * *

"What all did you tell him?" he whispered in the dark. She lied on his chest, slippery with sweat, her entire body sore.

"Don't tell me that's what you were thinking about while…"

"No, no, not at all." She felt the backs of his fingers on her cheek. "It's a leaping mind at work."

"He knows we married, if that's what you want to know." She dropped down onto the bed and burrowed into the crook of his arm. "So I suppose if the _Flying Dutchman _surfaces and starts stalking us, it shouldn't come as a shock."

"Took it that badly, did he?"

"No. It was…I can hardly explain it, Jack. At first, it seemed like he already knew. Then it seemed like he was angry about it, jealous. But that only lasted a second. It, it was…I hate to say he didn't seem to care…but he's detached from all this now. He asked when you came to your senses and realized how irreplaceable I am." He shook as he snorted. She could feel his head move against his pillow so that he faced her, the shine of his black eyes the only thing visible to her.

"How do you summarize ten years in one day, Lizzie?" he asked with so much seriousness her lips dried.

"Well." She groped for his hand and laced her fingers through his as she searched for the words. "After I recounted how I rescued the _Pearl _for you…" She paused, locking eyes with him, effortlessly switching her tone to complete sincerity. "I said how we wasted no time and married that same day before we picked up Billy, how you've been an amazing father to him. I said we had a daughter together, who is growing up beautifully, and that we've had many adventures and travels and hope to have many more." She leaned into him, until she felt the tip of his chin in her hair and the soft skin of his neck on her lips. "But if you'd like me to summarize it further…" She sucked on his neck. "Happiness would be the best one-word summation."

* * *

Jack's arms clasped around her, thrusting upward until they sat on the bed together, pressed against one another, legs tangled in the sheets. Heaving her up, he carried her over to the desk and laid her on top of it. His lips on the lines of her stomach, he slithered his way up to her. Her hands on his forearms, her breathing already quickened in the dark, he positioned himself and soon felt the familiar warmth and the familiar gasp that followed it.

* * *

The cold wood of the desk on her back only heightened the experience, only accentuated Jack's chest on hers, their heartbeats touching. With trembling fingers, Elizabeth skittered them up his arms until they closed in over his neck, bringing him lower to her. His scent hovered over her, entwining with the ever-present salty aroma of the ocean. Groaning with every motion, she inhaled and took his jawbone in her mouth, her tongue swirling around it, tracing the delicate bone and the sensitive skin just under it. She didn't fight his prying one of her hands off him—could only moan when he pulled away just far enough to hold her wrist and apply the shortest, most tingling kisses to it, almost making love to it.

"Oh, Lizzie," he pleaded, his voice like gravel. "Oh, God, Lizzie, I love you."

The effort it took to bring her head up enough to touch his eclipsed the hot, blissful tears in her eyes. She could feel it, that sensation that she would again be launched into the air, the whole world giving way for her, a paved path to every desire imaginable.

"I love you," she whispered into his ear, their breathing ragged. She clasped onto him tighter, her nails indenting crescent moons into his back. Her eyes lost focus as they began to roll back. She whimpered, writhing under him until her limp body fell against the desk.

* * *

He wouldn't have been able to hold out longer even if she hadn't said that, he thought, his forehead on her shoulder, drenched in sweat. The way those luscious lips fell open, those sparkling eyes losing focus, her head thrown back—even in the dark he could see it all, could feel it, hear it, and taste it. With a grunt, Jack stood and took her hands, leading her backwards back to the bed and letting her crash into him. The only energy he had left was being spent on gathering up the sheets anyway.

"I meant it," she sighed, scooting up to face him, so close he can hear the rapid succession of eye blinks.

"Meant it, darling?"

"I love you."

Jack brushed his thumb over her cheek, letting his arm droop down and cradle the back of her head, the soft rocking of the _Pearl _and his drained body not allowing for much more. After knowing her for eleven years, it still caught him off guard sometimes to instinctively sense her emotions, like the tension now. Perhaps she'd realized he'd been more worried than he should have been? That the utterance of the needless…but nevertheless lovely…words icing on the proverbial cake that was her return?

"You can stay up all night, love, telling me so, but all that'll do is keep us awake for the sunrise…promise of adventure you called it once, eh?" Hearing her tired laugh, he kissed her forehead. "And said sunrise is a new decade, Lizzie. Elizabeth." She always jostles when I call her that, he noted. "Whole new decade with you." Pushing a strand of hair back from her face, he closed his eyes, knowing, no longer hoping, the dawn would catch them together as it always did.

END


End file.
